Of House and Home
by athousandsmiles
Summary: She feared he would twist her and turn her like a Rubik's Cube until he had her all worked out and then he'd lose interest. Set at the end of season one. House/Cameron
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Again, this was posted at LJ long ago, so it may seem familiar to some of you. Starts during the date from hell in _Love Hurts_ and continues on from there. A/U obviously. There are 19 chapters total, and a short 2 chapter sequel. I've just got some minor editing to do, so updates should be pretty regular.

**Disclaimer:** I wish.

Beta'd by blueheronz, who really made me stretch my writing muscles, for which I am grateful. Thanks so much, my friend. (She also came up with the title, because I suck at titles.)

**On with the show...**

Her ravioli could have been made with paste and filled with dirt, for all Cameron tasted it. Her appetite had fled somewhere around the phrase, _You don't want, you need,_ and when the waiter came to take their order, she had pointed blindly at the menu and nodded at whatever he said. The one bite she'd managed to choke down now sat in her stomach like...well, a lump of dirt and paste, while she pushed the rest of it around her plate with her fork in a pretense at eating.

She laid down her fork and gulped her wine, wishing she'd had the foresight to order something stronger, like three fingers of JD straight up. House sat across from her devouring his meal as if nothing was amiss; no signs of emotional turmoil or discomfort whatsoever on his face, aside from the fact that he wouldn't actually look at her.

"_So there's absolutely nothing I can do to make you think that I don't like you."_

_"No," she responded with a smile, resolute in her conviction._

What a stupid mistake, she thought. Telling House he couldn't do something was akin to issuing a triple dog dare to a nine year old boy. She'd thrown down the gauntlet and he'd taken it up with the determination of an Olympic athlete. Hell, he probably had a gold medal in dashing hopes and dreams.

She knew she was worked up when she started thinking in sports metaphors.

What was the saying? Pride goes before a fall? She'd been so confident, smug even, that she was close to cracking his shell, especially when he'd given her the corsage. Of course, she blamed herself for backing him into a corner with talk of _feelings,_ which she should have realized would be as welcome as a discussion of Laura Ashley decor. She'd made a tactical error in thinking that a direct push was what it would take to get him to open up to her and now she could see that that was the exact opposite of what would work on House.

And now it was probably too late.

"Movie starts soon. You ready to go?" he asked, startling her from her thoughts.

She glanced around and noticed their plates had been cleared, the check now sat in front of him stuffed with cash, and he was pulling at his collar like it was a hangman's noose.

"Just... take me home," she replied, resigned to the fact that this date was beyond redemption.

He yanked off his tie the second they left the restaurant, stuffing it into his pocket almost contemptuously before climbing into the car. She sat in the passenger seat holding his cane and twisting it between her fingers, conscious only of the awkward silence that hung between them, and haunted by all the things she should have said to him.

House parked outside of her apartment building and began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while casting occasional sideways glances in her direction, which only served to exacerbate her already jumpy nerves.

"We could still go..."

"Don't worry, House," she interrupted, swinging her legs out of the car. "You kept up your end of the deal. You're off the hook. I'll see you at work on Monday," and she slammed his car door none too gently and marched up the steps toward her apartment.

"Cameron," he called out, and she turned, surprised he hadn't sped off already like the proverbial bat out of hell.

"Yes?"

"Cripple here, remember?" he said, frowning at her from over the roof of his car.

"What?" she asked, squinting at him in confusion.

"My cane," he snapped, looking at her like she was a stupid child, and she realized then that she was still holding it. "What? You wanted a souvenir of our evening together?"

"Sorry," she muttered, mentally cringing and wondering what else she could do to embarrass herself. She handed it back to him with barely a glance at his face, then turned and fled back up the steps before he could insult her again.

Once inside her apartment, she kicked off her heels and unzipped the dress she'd taken so much time and effort to choose. She stalked toward her bedroom, peeling it off and letting it fall in a heap on the floor just inside the doorway, certain she'd never wear it again. Stepping over it, she reached into her closet for a sweater and her favorite pair of jeans, pulling them on roughly. She had only one goal in mind: to get out of her apartment, stop dwelling on the date and her own foolishness and do something, anything, to distract herself.

She took a quick glance in the mirror. At the sight of her mussed hair, she looked away, ignoring her appearance. As long as there was nothing stuck in her teeth, she didn't much care what she looked like at that point. Stuffing her feet into her mules, she grabbed her purse and headed back out the door.

MD MD MD MD

As House drove off, he imagined Cameron up in her apartment, probably curled up on her bed sobbing into her pillow at that very moment. Or maybe she was crying quietly over a glass of wine, her feet tucked under her on the couch. Whatever she was doing, he'd bet his vintage Corvette that there were tears involved.

Why did she have to make it so hard not to give a crap, he wondered?

A miniature Wilson sat on his shoulder and urged him to go back, apologize, tell her it wasn't her fault. Tell her that he was the one that was too screwed up for her. But a tiny version of Foreman sat on the other, telling him it was for the best to let things be, he'd only end up hurting her further.

With a mental _shut the hell up_ to both, House yanked the wheel to the left and made an illegal U-turn, ignoring the screech of tires and the obscene gesture from the driver behind him. He wasn't good at apologies, but maybe just showing up at her door would be enough. Cameron was a pretty forgiving person, after all. Cameron was...pulling out of her apartment complex and passing him as she headed in the other direction.

He blinked in surprise and yanked the wheel again, performing his second illegal maneuver of the night in order to tail her. Considering her emotional state, he wondered if she was headed to a bar to get drunk and possibly pick up some sleazy guy for a one night stand. There was no way in hell he was gonna let that happen.

Friends don't let friends drive teary-eyed and sleep with random losers. Or something like that.

A few minutes later, and not without some mumbled complaints about her incessant need to keep to the speed limit, he followed her into the parking lot of the local movie theater. It was the last place he expected her to go. But maybe she preferred to cry in the dark, surrounded by strangers. Maybe she liked to watch sappy chick flicks or some Jane Austen period crap in order to make herself feel better.

He parked and hobbled out of his car, limping as fast as he could so as not to lose sight of her.

She stood a few feet in front of him, waiting in line to buy her ticket, alone in the crowd. The sight of her like that, scanning the marquis while people milled around her with their friends and family, brought an unfamiliar lump of emotion to his throat. She should be among them, laughing with a friend or hanging off the arm of some nice, predictable guy who'd give her everything she deserved. And what she didn't deserve was a broken down, drug addicted cripple, whether she knew it or not.

He tapped his cane impatiently, glaring at the woman in front of him when she turned and gave him a sharp look.

"Nice perfume," he muttered sarcastically. "They have a sale at the warehouse club on that stuff?"

Normally, he'd have wielded his cane and cut the line. What was the point of being a cripple if you couldn't use it to your advantage, after all? But he wanted to observe her unnoticed. His height gave him a clear view of her, and he watched closely looking for clues to what made her tick.

She reached the front of the line and handed some bills to the pimple-faced kid behind the counter. In turn, she received her ticket and moved toward the concession area. House scanned the movie listings to try and discern which movie she was going to see. There were several romantic comedies--he shuddered at the thought--a horror flick, one Bond movie and one action adventure that promised a lot of explosions and violence.

He plunked his own money down and requested a ticket for the Bond movie, keeping an eye on Cameron at the concession stand as he hurried Acne Boy along.

Ticket in hand, he stood behind a pillar and waited while she purchased a bag of popcorn and an icee. With her hands full, she turned and headed toward theater number three. Ah, action flick it is, he thought, surprised by her choice. He wondered if watching things explode had some kind of therapeutic affect on her. She certainly didn't seem upset, but he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that sensitive, tenderhearted Allison Cameron would have taken his analysis of her so stoically. Especially since she'd looked like she was on the verge of tears as soon as he'd finished his spiel.

Once inside the dimly lit theater, he spotted her climbing the steps toward the middle section of seats, and stood mesmerized at the view of her swaying hips. He watched her as she chose a seat in the middle of the row, wedging herself past some young guys, who nudged each other and grinned their own appreciation of the view.

She settled herself into her seat, placed her drink in the cup holder and dug into her popcorn, engrossed in the trivia questions that played across the screen. Meanwhile House plotted ways to get himself a seat without being spotted, hoping to hold on to the element of surprise as long as possible. He moved back to the exit, cursing his bum leg and trying to think of a way to sneak past her, when a young woman with a theater employee ID came to his rescue.

"Sir, there's an elevator around the corner if you need it," she said politely, eyeing his cane.

He followed her to the elevator and made his way up to the top row, coming out behind Cameron. With a satisfied smirk, he slipped into the seat next to her.

She turned to him and her jaw opened in surprise. "Dammit House, are you following me now?"

"Nope," he lied. "I really wanted to see this movie. Ebert and Roeper _highly _recommend it--gave it two thumbs up and everything."

"Right," she answered, clearly not convinced. She took a sip of her icee and ignored him until he reached over and snatched a handful of popcorn from her.

"Hey, get your own!"

"But then I'd have to limp all the way down the stairs, and my leg hurts," he whined.

"Sucks for you," she answered, as she moved her popcorn to the opposite side, out of his reach.

Maybe she wasn't that forgiving after all, he thought, studying her profile in the dim light, wishing he knew what was going through that intricate mind of hers.

"Soooo," he started, "why are you here?"

She smiled knowingly. "You mean, how come I'm not home crying in my pillow?"

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Okay, how come you're not home crying in your pillow?"

At this, her smile turned smug. "I was mad at first, because I like being psychoanalyzed about as much as you do. But your analysis of me couldn't have been more wrong. I have no reason to be upset."

"Right," he answered skeptically. "Then why didn't you just come here with me?"

"Because I was wrong too. I practically forced you into this date when clearly you didn't want it. I get it now and I'm...sorry," she said with a sigh. "Now that you've got your answer, will you please leave?"

"What would be the fun in that?" he answered, snatching up her icee and taking a long drink.

From directly behind them, the purposeful clearing of a throat caused them both to turn and stare. Now that he had their attention, the man brought his finger to his lips and let forth a hissing "Ssssshhhhh," like he was scolding naughty children.

"You need silence to read trivia questions?" Cameron snapped, frowning and causing the man to shrink back in his seat.

House raised his eyebrows and leaned toward her with a smile. "That was hot," he said admiringly. "I am officially turned on."

She rolled her eyes and snatched her drink out of his grip, placing it back in the cup holder. "I don't suppose if I move to another seat you'd leave me alone?"

"Nope!" He smiled. "Nice try."

"Fine, but if you touch my icee again, you'll be wearing it," she warned.

Somehow he believed her. He had to admit he liked this feisty side of her.

"This is way more fun than dinner. Imagine what we can do when the lights go down," he murmured in her ear. He was hoping to see the tell-tale shiver of desire that he knew his proximity brought out in her. But if she was affected, she hid it behind an exasperated sigh, which only served to heighten his fascination with this new side of her.

"House, I am not gonna play this screwed up game with you. If you can't let me enjoy the movie, then move to another seat."

"What game would that be?"

She turned fully toward him with a determined look on her face. "The one where you follow me around because I'm not conforming to your preconceived notions of me. You think that my coming here is some kind of anomaly and you don't like it because you can't explain it. My indifference to your remarks bothers you. You don't want me, but you don't want me to lose interest in you either."

Unwilling to show any indication that she might be right, he let out a derogatory hmph sound. "Now who's doing the psychoanalyzing?"

"You asked," she responded simply.

"You're wrong anyway. I've been trying to get you to lose interest in me for months."

"Right," she said, with a knowing smile. "That's why you kept asking me to come back to work and why you bought me the corsage and why you like to brush up against me in the lab. You're trying to get me to lose interest. Great plan. Or was that supposed to be reverse psychology?"

"You tell me. Better yet, what does Freud have to say about it?" he remarked sarcastically, inexplicably angry all of a sudden.

She shrugged him off with a blank expression and turned back toward the screen.

The lights dimmed and the previews started to play. He kept his attention on Cameron, wondering if this new found indifference was real or an act. She certainly was convincing. And he wondered why it bothered him so much, and why it bothered him that he was bothered.

The movie began and House found himself pushing away that unsettling feeling as he tried to focus on the plot. He was acutely aware of Cameron at his side and found himself enjoying her company more than he would have thought possible. It was particularly fascinating when she laughed at a cheesy line of dialogue that was meant to be serious and dramatic because he found himself nearly laughing at it too. The sound of her laughter was almost foreign to him, bringing back memories of Monster Trucks and cotton candy. She laughed at work sometimes, but never like this; never this unguarded, spontaneous sound that seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep inside her. He wasn't about to wax poetic about it. It wasn't tinkling or musical or melodic or any of those adjectives you'd find in a cheap romance novel. But he found that he liked the sound of it more than he ever could have imagined and wondered what it would take for him to make her laugh like that again.

About halfway through the film his leg started to cramp up. Reaching for his Vicodin, he popped two in his mouth and swallowed them dry. It was tempting to reach for Cameron's drink again and he wondered vaguely how long it would take her to offer it to him if he pretended to be choking. The way she seemed lost in the plot, he might get away with sneaking a sip.

"Don't even think about it," she whispered, giving him one quick warning look and turning back to the movie.

Damn, she was good. He smiled, impressed and pleased to know that she wasn't completely oblivious to him. He found himself wanting to touch her, and not just sexually. Leaning toward her, he allowed his arm to brush against hers and linger there, wondering if she would entwine her fingers with his or pull away if he took her hand.

Watching her was fascinating; the way she ate popcorn was almost erotic. She plucked one piece at a time from the bag, not quite bringing it all the way to her mouth but rather, extending her delicate tongue to capture each piece and draw it in between her rosy lips. It was the first time that popcorn ever made him think dirty thoughts.

As she stared ahead at the screen, he stared at her profile, mesmerized by the changing light that played across her face. Her eyelashes seemed impossibly long and curled just right as they swept up toward her brows and down toward her smooth cheekbones. He had never met a woman who was so incredibly beautiful and who alternated between resenting her beauty and being completely unaware of it. In his experience, most women used it to their advantage every chance they got.

If there was one thing she was right about, it was that he hated anomalies and she, Allison Cameron, presented the biggest anomaly of all.

Before he knew it, the credits were rolling and the house lights were glaring down upon them. He stood up and blocked the aisle before she could escape past him.

"You want to get a drink?" he asked.

"No House, I don't. I'm tired. I'm going home. Goodnight." She brushed by him and made her way quickly down the stairs, not looking back.

He noticed she still held her cup and popcorn bag. If he wasn't mistaken, she'd do the nice thing and put them in the trash on the way out, instead of leaving them for the theater employees to clean up like most people did. He found himself grinning over this quirky need she had to always be courteous.

Taking the elevator again, he made it to the main floor just as she emerged with the crowd flowing out the theater doors. He fell into step beside her, surprising her once again.

"Thought you could get rid of me, huh?" he teased.

"Obviously I'm not that lucky," she sighed, increasing her pace out the door and toward her car.

"Cameron," he called after her, although he wasn't sure what he even intended to say. Maybe a repeat of his earlier invitation to get a drink. All he knew was that he didn't want to go home just yet. He wanted to spend more time with her, learn more about her.

"Goodnight," she called out again and sped off.


	2. Chapter 2

House limped over to his car and got in, contemplating what he should do next as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and exhaled a puff of air. A hint of Cameron's perfume lingered in the confines of the small space, something that reminded him of almonds and jasmine and that he would forever after associate with her. It hovered like a ghost, and he turned toward the passenger seat half expecting to see her there. Instead he caught a glimpse of something white on the floorboard, peeking out from beneath the seat.

The corsage.

He plucked the delicate flower off the floor, wondering how it came to be there. Had she removed it and left it on purpose or had it fallen off without her notice? Discarding it so carelessly seemed cruel, even for the new version of Cameron he'd seen tonight. She had to have known that buying it had been a hugely uncomfortable thing for him to do. He'd anguished over the choices presented to him until concluding that the half opened white roses were the perfect choice. White, for Cameron's youth and innocence. Roses, not fully bloomed, because they symbolized romance and beginnings. Despite the fact that he'd screwed it all up, his intentions had been good.

One look at her hopeful face, the way she'd touched the flowers pinned to her dress and smiled at him, and he'd panicked, wondering what the hell she was doing there. With him. He was dressed up in a suit and a tie that he was certain was a distant relative of the boa constrictor. And they'd been seated right smack in the center of the restaurant, where he was sure everyone in the place was staring and wondering why this beautiful young thing was there with...him. In so many ways, the whole scenario was wrong. She was too young, too optimistic, too...nice, and all he wanted was to just get through the evening and be done with anything that had to do with, well, romance.

And then she'd asked him flat out about his feelings for her. Right. Like he was ever going to admit to feelings.

He figured she would take the corsage home and press it into a book or whatever it was that sentimental women like Cameron did with flowers. It looked so lonely on the floor of his car, a living symbol of rejection. Maybe she'd left it on purpose. Or maybe she didn't even know it was missing.

Bringing it to her suddenly seemed like the right thing to do. Her reaction would tell him whether or not she'd left it on purpose. And he had to know.

The drive back to her apartment was short. Before he knew it, he was rapping on her door with the handle of his cane, the corsage resting in the palm of his other hand.

She opened the door and peered out at him, eyes wide and tragic, face pale, and her mouth a thin, straight line; a far cry from the feisty, confident woman he'd seen a mere quarter of an hour before. With shaky hands she motioned for him to come in.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping in and laying the forgotten corsage on the lamp table.

She ignored him and paced the room in agitation.

"Cameron," he said firmly, reaching out and taking her by the arm, forcing her to face him.

"House," she said, as if she only just realized who was standing in her living room.

"What's wrong?" he repeated, keeping his hold on her.

"I...I got a message. It's...I have to go home. My dad collapsed. He's in the ICU, but they don't know what's wrong with him yet. I have to go home." She pulled away from him and ran her fingers through her hair as she started pacing again. "I'm gonna need some time off."

He nodded and watched as she seemed to lose herself in thoughts and plans, oblivious to his presence.

"I...I need to pack some things. Oh, I should probably book my flight first. Gotta ask Glenda to get my mail. It's late though, she's probably already in bed. I'll need to call for the shuttle. Maybe I can just..."

She was babbling almost nonsensically now. He'd never seen her like this, so completely unraveled. Somehow it made him feel unsettled, antsy, as if he was coming down from a high. Reaching out for her again, he took both her slender arms in his hands and waited for her to meet his eyes.

"Cameron, I'll book your flight. You go pack."

She nodded, fighting back tears and stepping away from him. She was halfway down the hall to her bedroom when she turned back to look at him, a sadness in her eyes that pierced through the hard veneer surrounding his heart.

"I...I can't lose him," she murmured.

He clenched, his right hand gripping his cane so tight he feared it might snap from the pressure, and lowered his head in a half nod. It was all he could do in the face of her fear.

As soon as she disappeared into her bedroom, he pulled out his cell phone and called the airline, jotting down information on a pad of paper he found lying on her kitchen counter. He booked her a first class round trip ticket with an open ended return date and paid for it with his own credit card.

Her flight was scheduled to leave in less than three hours, and it would take them an hour to get to the airport. He hobbled toward her bedroom to let her know.

She sat on the bed next to an open suitcase that was half filled with clothes, a forlorn and faraway look on her face.

"Cameron" He pushed her suitcase aside and sat beside her. When she barely took notice of him, he took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. The vague realization that he'd touched her more tonight than in the entire year he'd known her floated through his mind like a cumulous cloud on a windy day. "You have to finish packing if we're gonna make it to the airport on time."

Swallowing hard and nodding, she stood again and began tossing more clothes haphazardly into the suitcase. After watching her throw in a pair of maroon stockings and a swimsuit, he figured he'd better step in or she'd have nothing appropriate to wear. In other circumstances, he'd mock her for her packing skills, but right now he had to figure out some way to bring her out of this worry induced stupor.

Plucking out the swimsuit, he held it up for inspection. "I'm sure your dad's doctors will appreciate this," he said with a suggestive leer. "Although _I'd _much prefer you in a two piece. Why don't our patients' loved ones ever show up in swim wear?"

She snatched it out of his grasp and stuffed it back into the open drawer, color rising up her face and over her cheekbones like morning sunlight. Then she slumped down onto the bed next to him again, weighed down by worry.

"House," she whispered, "my dad's always been the strong one. The one that held us all together. What am I gonna do if..."

"Don't," he interrupted. "You don't even know what's wrong yet. It could be any number of curable things. Being a doctor, you know that better than anyone." He wanted to touch her, comfort her, press her cheek into his neck, stroke her hair, and tell her everything would be okay. God, what a sap.

Abruptly, he stood up and made his way toward the hall before he could put his thoughts into actions. The last thing he needed was a vulnerable Allison Cameron suddenly thinking he was in love with her.

"Finish packing," he murmured, not meeting her eyes. "I'll drive you to the airport."

She emerged moments later, dragging her suitcase behind her and looking as if she had pulled herself together somewhat.

"Ready?" he asked.

Nodding, she grabbed her purse and shoved it into her carry on bag. As they headed out the door, she laid her hand gently on his arm and whispered, "Thanks, House."

He just nodded and took her bag from her shoulder and led her to his car.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** While this was originally beta'd by blueheronz, I've kind of been editing and rewriting chapters before posting them up here. This chapter underwent quite an overhaul. So if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out.

His foot was heavy on the gas pedal as he drove home from the airport, the lights on the highway flashing over him like seizure-inducing strobes. He could not stop himself from thinking of Cameron, nor could he stop the niggling fear that maybe she wouldn't come back.

_"Call me when you get there," he said, running his thumbnail just above his eyebrow in contemplation._

_"Why?" she asked, her face screwed up in confusion._

Why indeed. He didn't have a good answer for that. At least not one that didn't smack of desperation and need, and so he'd huffed impatiently and snapped, "Just do it."

Her and her persistent questions. So annoying. He definitely wasn't going to miss _that_.

He'd never felt the difference in their ages as acutely as when she walked away from him toward security. Carry-on clutched in her arms like a security blanket, she looked like a lost little girl as she turned and gave him one last wave and a small wan smile before disappearing into the crowd.

Once in the haven of her family, would she even want to return to Princeton? Would she settle in there and forget all about him? Would she run into the arms of some childhood sweetheart? The thought made him want to vomit, but just because it was so sappy and chick flick-y and not because it made him... jealous.

"Right," his inner Wilson injected sarcastically.

If her dad's illness dragged on... It was a selfish thought, but he was a selfish bastard. The longer she stayed away, the less likely she'd come back. And he needed her to come back, because he hated change. Hated hiring new fellows. Plus, the mystery of Allison Cameron had yet to be solved. His interest in her was purely intellectual--a need to figure out what makes her tick.

Right again.

In the short time he slept that night, he dreamed of her in a schoolgirl outfit: extremely short plaid skirt, crisp white button down, knee high stockings, and platform Mary Jane's. In her arms she held a teddy bear dressed in a lab coat with a stethoscope around its neck. Her hair was in two braids hanging past her shoulders, her face devoid of make up. Pristine white panties were just visible beneath her skirt.

The bear started ringing, and he awoke with a raging hard-on, the vision of her still fresh in his mind. Slightly disturbing and yet hot as hell, he thought as he tried to ease the ache of his erection.

From the nightstand, his cell phone jingled again and there was her name staring up at him from the caller ID. Her voice was as scratchy as steel wool, a sexy rasp that only increased his arousal. She said she was fine, but her words came out in a weary sigh as she told him her brother had met her at the airport and they were on their way to the hospital to see her dad.

"Call me back when you get to the hospital," he ordered, about to hang up so he could take care of his... problem.

"Why?" she asked. Again.

Rolling his eyes, he yanked the covers off himself and sat up, thinking of a suitable answer. "Because the idiot doctors there probably couldn't diagnose a mild case of the flu," he grumped. "If you want your dad to live, I'm your only hope. You can call me Obi Wan."

Lame, he thought, but better than admitting he was afraid to cut off all contact with her.

"Okay," she agreed with a yawn. "Talk to ya later."

Abandoning any hope of getting more sleep, he got ready for work, feeling...well, disconnected and still uncomfortably aroused.

Foreman and Chase were sitting at the conference table when he arrived. Tossing his backpack on his chair, he moved into the other room, grunting his greeting.

It was strange how the absence of one tiny woman could make the office seem like such an empty place. Foreman had made the coffee, as usual. But he didn't jump up and fill House's red mug for him. And neither one of them offered up a half dozen boring potential cases from the stack of mail on the desk in the corner either. Nor did they plague him with consult requests they knew he'd reject.

They're useless, House thought, somewhat bitterly, as he filled his own mug.

He'd never noticed until now how her presence softened and warmed all the hard, cold surfaces in the space. Her subtle feminine fragrance was the perfect balance to the abundance of testosterone in the room, if you didn't count Chase. It was annoying that he was missing her, even though he didn't even like her. Equally upsetting was the fact that he couldn't stop reaching for his cell phone, eager for her next call.

He barely spoke a word to Foreman and Chase before retreating to his office. When Foreman followed him, he didn't bother hiding his irritation.

"What'd you do to Cameron?" Foreman accused, ignoring what House was sure was his most effective "Do not disturb" aura.

"What didn't I do?" House joked, quirking his eyebrows. "The woman's insatiable."

"House! Where is she?"

"Hopefully still handcuffed to my bed. I was hoping to sneak away for a little afternoon delight." He watched, almost amused, as Foreman flexed his fingers and then rolled them up into fists.

"Oh relax, Foreman. I didn't do anything. Besides, weren't you the one who advised me to act like a jerk?"

Foreman crossed his arms and glared. "I said you should be yourself. Since Cameron's not here, I assume you were even worse than your usual self."

"You do realize that you're not actually her big brother? In case you hadn't noticed, you tan a lot better than she does. I'm pretty sure it's a genetic thing."

Ignoring the racial jibe, Foreman continued glaring, his fists still clenched as he waited for a proper answer.

"She's fine. She got called away on a family emergency. She'll be back." He waved his hand dismissively at Foreman, who ignored him and continued his stare down, as if deciphering whether or not to believe what he'd just heard.

"Oh for God's sake, call her yourself if you don't believe me," House snapped. "And get out of my office. NOW!"

Foreman rolled his eyes and raised his hands in surrender, before heading back into the conference room.

House reached for his iPod, but then realized that he might not hear his phone ring while music was blaring in his ears. Pushing it aside, he pulled out his gameboy instead, seeking a distraction from his errant thoughts. He'd barely begun to play when Wilson walked through the door, coffee cup in hand, and plopped himself down in front of House's desk.

"So? How'd it go?" he asked, settling in like he was ready for a good gossip session.

House set the gameboy on the desk and lowered his head, unsure how much he should tell Wilson. He'd thought he'd give her one date and then things would go back to normal. Right now things were anything but normal, but he wasn't sure he wanted Wilson to know that.

Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms behind his head, assuming a relaxed and casual stance. "You were right. That D.H.A. thing is a real panty peeler."

Wilson nearly choked on his coffee. "You slept with Cameron?" he sputtered.

"Why should that surprise you? You were the one offering me condoms last night. Which, by the way, I didn't need. Turns out Cameron keeps quite a selection at her place. Regular wildcat in the sack, that one."

Wilson's mouth hung open, his bushy eyebrows nearly disappearing beneath his hairline. "Oh my God. You...She...You two...I mean...Woah!"

"You are so gullible," House mocked.

"Wait, so you're saying you didn't sleep with her?"

House said nothing, just watched his friend's face as he tried to figure out which was true.

"Well, did you?" Wilson asked.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Seriously?"

"No."

"HOUSE!"

"Okay, I didn't sleep with her. Have you always been this nosy? 'Cause I gotta say, it's pretty annoying."

"Says the man who called me every day when I was on my honeymoon," Wilson said, outraged.

"Well, it wasn't like it was your first honeymoon. Besides, why would you leave your phone on during your honeymoon? I assumed that meant you wanted to hear from me."

"As I explained to you at the time, I had to leave my phone on in case of an emergency with one of my patients. Why are we even arguing about this?"

"You brought it up," House shrugged, happy to be off the subject of Cameron.

Wilson stood up, exasperated, and glanced into the conference room on his way out of House's office. He paused and turned back to House. "Where is Cameron anyway?"

Irritated, House rolled his eyes. If he was going to be answering the same question all day, he would just go home and try to get some sleep.

"House, what did you do?"

Slamming his hand down on the desk, House stood up, scowling at Wilson. "Why does everyone assume I did something?"

"Well, because you're you."

"She got called home. Family emergency. I even drove her to the airport."

"Oh," said Wilson, surprised. "Well, good then. I mean, good that you drove her to the airport, not good that she had..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. Do you actually have patients to tend to or do you get paid to gossip?"

Wilson sighed and left the office. But not before calling out, "I still want to hear about your date."

Of course.

House packed up his things and decided now would be a good time to make his escape. He was already regretting that he'd come to work in the first place.

He made it as far as the lobby before Cuddy spotted him and ordered him to the clinic. Despite his best efforts, she wasn't buying his reasons for why Cameron's family emergency should somehow excuse him from clinic duty, so he spent the next three hours in what he liked to refer to as the Fourth Circle of Hell.

**A/N 2: For those of you who don't remember, the D.H.A. thing is right from the episode _Love Hurts._** **Wilson's advice to House before the date: "**Comment on her shoes, her earrings, and then move on to D.H.A. Her dreams, hopes and aspirations. Trust me. Panty-peeler. Oh, and if you need condoms, I've got some."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter starts the introduction of some original characters. As someone who hates when the OCs start cluttering up a fic, I kept the number of them as realistically small as possible while maintaining the focus of the story on House and Cameron. When I wrote this, I had given up on TPTB ever giving us some background on Cameron beyond the nameless dead husband, so I gave her one of my own. Apparently, I was right, since even Chase doesn't get to know her dead husband's name, nor did anyone (her father) walk her down the aisle at the kangaroo court wedding. /bitter rant Okay, on with the chapter... lol**

Her brother's truck rattled along the lonely stretch of road at a steady clip, as if trying to out run the sunlight spreading across the morning sky. She ignored the cup of coffee in her grip and turned to study her brother's profile as he drove, yawning deeply as she did. His dark hair was cut short, his arms and chest well muscled. He looked more like a man now than the last time she'd seen him, with a touch of gray along his temples and crinkles of laughter around his eyes. At the moment, his mouth was set in a tight line, a sure sign that he was worried.

"You get much sleep on the plane?" he asked, glancing at her briefly.

"I dozed a little," she answered and yawned again, leaning her head against the window.

"If you want, I can take you straight home so you can get some sleep," he offered.

"NO!" She jerked her head up and took a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm fine. I just want to see dad. Besides, I'm guessing you didn't get much sleep either."

"No," he admitted with a yawn of his own. "Not really."

"Matthew..." She trailed off, unsure of what to say. If he needed reassurance, well, she didn't have any to spare at the moment. All she had was a lot of questions and a great deal of worry. "What exactly happened last night?"

His lips turned downward, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I'm not sure. I just found him out back, lying in the grass. He was conscious, but so weak he couldn't get up. He's not been feeling well for about a week. Just thought he had the flu. The doctor's haven't given us any answers yet." He turned toward her, reaching over and giving her hand a squeeze. "He's a tough old guy, Ally. I'm sure he'll be fine."

She could picture her dad now, larger than life in a faded button down and blue jeans, whistling a Nat King Cole tune as he went on his evening walk. He'd worn a path through the field and out to the little creek that ran across the back corner of their property.

Most nights she'd gone with him, holding tight to his hand and grinning as he'd wink down at her. On those days, they'd travel a little further along the creek and see what new species of insect or plant life they could find before darkness fell: cream colored blossoms of the buckeye trees that later turned to large brown nuts, fringed prairie orchids, Queen Anne's Lace, spider wasps and ground beetles, both of which made her shudder a bit with fear. They'd kept a journal of their findings, marked in her childish penmanship; a treasure that she still kept on her bookshelf. He'd triggered her interest in science at a young age and fed it with books and weekly trips to the library throughout her childhood. And when she'd decided to become a doctor, he encouraged her wholeheartedly.

She smiled weakly back at Matt, grateful for his presence, his words of comfort. There was so much knowledge in her head about all the things that could go wrong, all the diseases that were fatal, and those thoughts were crowding out all others. She was having a hard time separating idoctor/i from idaughter/i.

Twisting a bit in her seat to face him, she asked, "So, how's fatherhood?"

For a moment he lost the worried expression and grinned at her, his brown eyes lighting up with pride. "It's great!" he exclaimed. "'Bout time you got out here to meet the little guy."

"He's only four months old, Matt. Besides, you know I was planning on coming out this summer."

"I know," he conceded. "But wait until you see him."

She smiled indulgently as he extolled the virtues of his infant son. Most new parents were the same; she'd seen it enough times at work, but she had to admit she was eager to get her hands on her new nephew. A little joy in the midst of all the worry.

Baby Greg, she thought. It was kind of amusing in a weird way that her nephew's name was Greg. Of course, her thoughts detoured to the only other Greg she knew, pondering his behavior of the night before.

Matt had just finished describing how baby Greg was very close to sitting up all on his own, and how he was sure that the little guy had said "Dada" just the other day when he grew quiet again and looked at her curiously.

"You're not even listening anymore, are you?" he asked, laughing lightly.

"I'm listening. Sort of," she admitted sheepishly. "It's just, my boss...his name is Greg. Not that I ever call him that. It's just weird to hear that name."

He nodded, looked at her reluctantly and then plunged ahead, "You have a thing for him?"

Sucking in a quick breath, she stuttered, "I...How...What makes you ask that?"

"I don't know. Maybe the way you sounded when you were talking to him on the phone. All whispery and stuff."

She laughed then, hard and long, clutching her stomach and trying not to spill her coffee. It wasn't funny. Except it was in an absurd way. She had fallen for her grumpy, bitter, older boss, and apparently she couldn't even hide it from her brother who, after all, had never met the man.

Matt was looking at her now as if she'd lost her mind, which only made her laugh harder. Maybe she really had lost her mind. After a moment, she sobered up and tried to explain. "Yeah, I guess I do have a thing for him. It's just... really complicated."

"Really? He's not married, is he?" he asked, frowning.

"No, of course not. You know me better than that," she scolded.

"Yeah, sorry." He gave her a sheepish smile. "I suppose the fact that he's your boss makes it difficult."

"Yeah, that's it," she answered, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "It's not that exactly. It's just that House is...rude, abrasive, sarcastic, caustic, obnoxious..." She barely refrained from laughing again at the look on her brother's face.

"Right. I can see why you like him then."

"You didn't let me finish," she said with a soft chuckle. "He's...Underneath all the layers there's a heart in there somewhere. I think... he feels things more deeply than most people, but he doesn't want anyone to know that. But when he looks at me, I can see it in his eyes. And sometimes he does things that are uncharacteristically kind, like last night when he booked my flight and drove me to the airport. He's also the smartest person I've ever met. He...he challenges me, and I like that. Plus he's sexy as hell."

"I did not need to know that last part," he quipped, rolling his eyes.

That almost sent her into another fit of giggles, but they were stifled immediately by her next thought. "He...he doesn't share my feelings, so it doesn't really matter what I feel."

Matt frowned and glanced at her, opening his mouth and then closing it again like he couldn't decide what to say. "I'm sorry, Ally," he finally murmured. "You deserve to be happy."

"Don't worry about me, Matt," she reassured, "I am happy. I have a good job and people I care about. I'm fine."

Hoping that conversation was over, Cameron took a swig of lukewarm coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"H-how's Mom?" she finally asked, staring down at her feet.

At the timbre of her voice, Matthew shot her a glance. "She's okay. She's just so worried about dad, ya know?"

She nodded, even though his eyes were back on the road. "You told her I'm coming, right?" There was a hint of insecurity in her voice that she hated, and wondered if she'd ever overcome. How old does a person have to grow before they stop needing to feel a mother's love or approval, she wondered. Was there a magic age where it simply disappeared? Or would it fade slowly over time, lessening each day until one day you realized it was gone?

"Yeah, I told her." He paused, looking at her gravely. "Ally, she loves you. You know that right?"

Her mind went blank for a moment, wondering how she was supposed to answer him. _No Matt, I don't know that. I've never known if she loved me or even liked me. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I've been nothing but a constant disappointment to her._ But she couldn't say any of that to Matthew, because he hated quarreling and discord. Matt was always the one trying to smooth out all the wrinkles in the family dynamic. And she had no desire to upset him.

"Of course," she answered, her voice sounding meek and faraway. After that, she grew silent and took up staring out the window at the passing scenery.

She had forgotten what it was like to see miles of land stretched out and flattened before her. Despite it's reputation, New Jersey was a beautiful place to live, mountainous and rugged and sort of wild. She liked that within a few hours she could be in New York City, standing amidst the hustle and bustle, horns honking and streets teeming with life, or walking on the beach watching the Atlantic roll in and play tag with the shore. She really didn't miss the long stretches of farmland laid out end upon end. The monotony of life here gave her a feeling of hopelessness; the way changes came so slowly that they were almost unnoticeable.

Finally they came to a small town. They called them cities here, but that misnomer just made her laugh. Since the last time she visited there were quite a few changes. Businesses sprouted up in the fertile fields where crops had once grown. Small places struggling to make it: mom and pop video stores and pizza parlors, a bike repair shop, a few fast food joints. And most of them competing against a large Wal-mart where she knew her sister-in-law did most of her shopping.

Soon they were pulling up to the hospital; another newer structure that was barely bigger than one of the smaller buildings on the entire of the PPTH campus. It was neither ugly, nor attractive. It just was. But if it served its purpose of helping people, her dad especially, that was all that mattered to her.

She took a deep, steadying breath and followed her brother through the doors.


	5. Chapter 5

Now that she was here, she wanted to flee far and fast, away from this place where she wasn't an employee, but one of the loved ones with nothing but worry and hope to cling on to. She thought of her husband Alex; sitting by his side, holding his hand and silently praying for a miracle to a god she didn't believe existed. And she thought of Joe holding her tight and mourning the loss of his best friend, tears co-mingling with the tang of bitterness at the inequity of a life used up far too soon. Regardless of what House thought, she did not enjoy bedside vigils.

When they stepped through the doors the familiar smell hit her, that unique mix of illness covered by antiseptic. Unlike PPTH, this place was practically deserted--a sterile ghost town. Sparsely and cheaply furnished, it was deathly quiet save for their footsteps echoing across the barren space. She realized for the first time how welcoming PPTH was compared to other hospitals. The bright red trees in the lobby, the glass walls, the soothing sound of the water features, and the hustle and bustle in the clinic, all made it seem like a rather cheery place considering its purpose. The vague idea that she should ask Cuddy for the designer's name so she could pass it along to the Dean of this place flitted through her mind momentarily.

The old woman behind the reception desk was as thin and fragile as a paper doll, her hair a white puff on the top of her head that gave her the appearance of a human Q-tip. She looked up and gave them a toothy smile as they passed her by.

Cameron trailed after her brother as he moved urgently toward the elevator, glancing briefly at the woman as she resumed her knitting behind the desk.

"The ICU's on the third floor," Matt said, pressing the button and leaning against the wall, twisting his wedding ring as they waited. "Mom's there already. They may not let us in to see him yet." He barely waited for the elevator doors to open before squeezing through. "Visiting hours are from noon to four, and only two people are allowed in at a time. They're pretty strict about the rules here."

Cameron nodded and rubbed her arms soothingly as he rambled, well familiar with hospital policies.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing a stark white hallway with only a few cheap pieces of art on the walls and a sign here and there pointing the way to different departments. Cold and unwelcoming and silent, it was like some sort of sensory deprivation chamber. She hated this colorless, lifeless atmosphere already. The sound of a cane thumping through the hallway would've been most welcome; voices arguing about tests and diagnoses, House sipping coffee from his red mug and scrawling symptoms on the white board. Somewhere along the line her coworkers had become like family to her and PPTH had become home. And she missed all of it.

Her brother led her into a waiting room with vinyl couches lining the walls and a television hanging in the corner. Magazines were piled haphazardly on the end tables. Several vending machines stood at one end of the room, beside a bathroom just across from the entrance. The television was set to some cable news channel and her mother sat alone, staring blankly at it.

Upon their entrance her mom stood, her brown hair unusually disheveled and her thin sweater wrinkled, as if she'd slept in it. Brown eyes, puffy and red rimmed from crying, appraised her daughter, her mouth turning down in a frown.

"Hi Mom," Cameron greeted, stepping forward uncertainly to embrace her.

"Allison. It was good of you to come," she answered stiffly, hugging her briefly. Two ghosts futilely trying to make a physical connection.

"How's dad?" she asked, pulling away and stuffing her hands in her pockets.

"He can't walk. Can barely sit up on his own. He's in a great deal of pain and they seem to have no idea what's wrong with him," her mom answered, swiping at tears as she spoke.

Returning to her seat, her mom gripped Matt's hand as he sat beside her. Cameron began pacing the room in agitation. "When can we see him?" she asked, looking between Matt and her mom.

"Allison, sit down," her mother ordered, frowning. "You're making me nervous with all that pacing."

She obeyed meekly, darting her eyes away from the disapproval on her mom's face. "Sorry. I'm just tired and worried."

"We're all tired and worried. You haven't cornered the market on it, you know," her mom snapped.

Cameron's frustration was coming to a boil, ready to spill over the edges of her sanity. "I didn't say I had..."

"Here comes Doctor Phillips now," Matt interrupted, standing and guiding their mom to her feet with a gentle hand beneath her elbow.

In a pristine white lab coat, a crisp green button down with a striped necktie, and sharply creased dress pants, he strode toward them with confidence, smoothing down his tie as he approached. "Mrs. McKenzie, I've just checked on your husband and he's stable. We're continuing to run some tests and we hope to know more this afternoon. For now we've made him as comfortable as possible. You should be able to see him shortly."

"Dr. Phillips," Cameron began, her words clipped, demanding. "I'd like to know my father's symptoms and what tests you've run so far." Pausing, she rubbed her fingers across her brow, reminding herself that this man was not the target of her anger. "I'm sorry. I'm Dr. Allison Cameron," she said, injecting warmth into her voice and offering her hand for a handshake. "I'd like to help if I can."

He looked her over, appraising her, and once again she felt the old resentment bubbling up. His look conveyed that he found her attractive, beautiful even, and she hated that it was the first label people pinned on her. Like there was nothing more to her than a pretty face. A nice piece of art to grace the lobby.

"Nice to meet you," he said, shaking her hand briefly. "I'm sure as a doctor you know that treating family members is never a good idea, which is why we don't allow it."

"Of course. I'm not asking to treat my father, but I work for one of the best diagnosticians in the country and I'd like to run the symptoms by him and see what we can come up with." Taking a deep breath, she contemplated him as she waited for his response, mentally cataloging the differences between him and House. He was younger, perhaps in his thirties, a bit shorter than House with darker hair and kind hazel eyes that crinkled in the corners as if he laughed a lot. He seemed confident, but not arrogant, with an air of sympathy about him that reminded her a bit of Wilson.

"Well, I don't suppose it would hurt." He smiled at her with reassurance. "So who, exactly, do you work for, by the way?"

"Dr. House," she answered simply, watching closely for his reaction.

With a mixture of shock and respect on his face, he replied, "Ohhhh yes, I've... heard about him. He's kind of a legend at Johns Hopkins." Clearing his throat, he said nothing further, and Cameron was left to imagine the myriad ways House had left his mark on the school.

"Can we see dad now?" Matthew asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes, of course. It's a little bit early, but I'll let the nurses know I gave the okay."

Though she had seen countless patients weakened and ravaged by illness, she was still not prepared for the sight of her father lying against the bleach-whitened sheets. His pale skin hung loose over his bones, his hair stuck up like thistles on his head, and his beard had been shaved off, revealing even paler skin beneath. In his eyes, his usual merriment had been replaced with the glaze of pain, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He looked helpless, an adjective she never thought she'd use to describe her father, Jack McKenzie.

"Ally!" he greeted, his voice a rusted over replica of its former self. "I'm so glad you're here. I've missed my girl."

Sitting on the edge of his bed, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him as tight as she could from her awkward position. "Hi dad," she murmured against his scratchy face. "I've missed you too. You know, if you wanted me to come see you, you could've just asked."

"Well you know me, I'm all about the drama," he quipped, squeezing her shoulders and releasing her. Raising herself up to look at him, she asked, "Dad, what can I do for you? Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Honey, I've got enough doctors interrogating me everyday without you chiming in." He brushed a knuckle against her cheek, taking the sting out of his words. "Just be my Ally right now, okay? That's what you can do for me."

His tenderness was all it took to release the tears she'd been holding back since late last night. Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she held him and softly cried.


	6. Chapter 6

Having finished his clinic hours for the day, House was now lounging in his office pretending to pay attention to the soap opera on the television. In reality, his thoughts were on Cameron, wondering when she would call, waiting to unravel the mystery. Whether or not the mystery was Cameron or her father's illness, he wasn't sure. Of course he wanted to figure out what was wrong with her dad, but he also had a strange longing to hear her voice again. This sappy sentiment had him all mixed up inside, because he was anything but sentimental. Logical, rational, intelligent, but never sentimental.

Thinking of her brought on a strange tugging sensation in the region of his chest that defied medical explanation, as if a little piece of the glacier surrounding his heart was breaking away. That was it, he realized, Allison Cameron was the human equivalent of global warming.

With that thought, his cell phone rang, and the warmth of anticipation spread through his chest.

"Miss me already?" he quipped upon answering.

"Of course. Life is just so bleak without you," she snarked, making him pause to appreciate her sarcasm. "House, we still don't know what's wrong with my dad." In her voice, uncertainty leaked out around the edges of her confidence, which had the same effect on him as when she clenched.

He stood and limped over to the whiteboard, uncapping the marker with his teeth and spitting the cap onto the floor. "What are the symptoms?"

"Weakness, joint and muscle pain, fatigue, tingling in the lower extremities, loss of muscle control. He'd been complaining of flu like symptoms for the past week or so."

He wrote sloppily, trying to keep up with her while his brain was already whirling with possibilities. "Who's his doctor?" he asked gruffly.

"Wha...Why?" Cameron stammered.

"Just answer the question," he ordered, rolling his eyes.

"Phillips. Kyle Phillips," she answered. "I'm in his office now."

"Breaking into a doctor's office, Cameron? Normally I'd be impressed with your initiative, but it's more productive if you break into the patient's home. Have I taught you nothing?" With a smirk, he leaned on the edge of the table and began to twirl his cane with his free hand.

"House! Dr. Phillips is right here. He's letting me assist with the diagnosis."

He had a sudden irresistible urge to annoy her. Distance shouldn't excuse her from his normal routine, after all. Lacing his voice with as much innuendo as he could, he said, "Well of course he is. Who wouldn't let a gorgeous and vulnerable young woman _help_ with the diagnosis?"

"Focus House! This is my father we're talking about. His name is Jack..."

"Where did Phillips go to school?" he interjected, ignoring her outburst.

"Hopkins, same as you. Why?"

"Never heard of him," he muttered. "Which means he's probably even more of a moron than some of those well published buffoons out there practicing medicine. What tests has he run?"

"ANA for lupus, MRI for lesions caused by MS, both negative. Tox screen showed nothing unusual, he hasn't been out of the country in years, CSS smears were negative for parasites. I was thinking maybe RA, although there's no swelling. They're checking his sed rate now."

Nodding, he stared intently at the list of symptoms scrawled on the whiteboard. "Does he spend a lot of time outdoors?"

"Yes." She paused and he could practically hear the gears in her head turning. "You're thinking Lyme disease?"

"Check for a rash and get an ELISA test. Call me back when you know more," he ordered, hanging up before he said anything personal that she could interpret as caring.

Chase and Foreman strolled in a few minutes later, noting the symptoms on the board.

"We have a case?" Foreman asked, dropping into a chair at the conference table.

"Nope," House answered, turning the board around so that they could no longer read it.

Foreman rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "You do realize that I can just stand up and go to the other side of the board if I want to read it, right?"

Chase sat there chewing on a pencil and staring between the two of them.

"You're right," House retorted, grabbing a piece of paper and pen from the desk and copying the symptoms down like it was a government secret that only he was privy to, glancing up every few seconds to make sure Bacardi and Cola weren't trying to peek. Once he was finished, he erased the board and turned it back to face the table. "Happy now?"

Foreman just shook his head in surrender. "You are so childish!"

In answer, House stuck his tongue out at him and shoved the paper in his pocket. He was about to retreat to his office when Foreman stopped him again.

"I assume those symptoms have something to do with Cameron's family emergency. What is it? You don't want one of us to figure it out 'cause then you won't get to be Cameron's hero?"

Narrowing his eyes at the smug expression on Foreman's face, he snapped, "Don't you have clinic duty?"

"Already did my hours."

"Fine, then go do Cameron's. And I'll be sure to let her know, so you can rack up more big brother points with her," he mocked. Pointing at Chase with his cane, he continued, "And you make yourself useful for once and answer my mail. I've always wanted a hot blond secretary. You do know how to read, right?" With a smirk, he left Chase sitting there sputtering protests to an empty room.

Once in his office, he dropped into the chair behind his desk and swiveled around toward the window, suddenly pissed. He really didn't know why he wouldn't let Chase or Foreman help with the diagnosis, but it certainly wasn't because he wanted all the credit for himself. He had no desire to be anyone's hero, especially not a doe-eyed innocent like Cameron. Besides, Cameron already had him on a pedestal.

He was only trying to protect her privacy, after all. She hadn't actually asked him to keep her father's illness quiet, but she _was_ a rather private person, he reasoned, and she would certainly appreciate that he'd respected her privacy. Not that he cared whether she appreciated it or not.

Damn.

In search of a distraction, he headed toward Wilson's office and hopefully a free lunch.

**A/N: For those who don't get the Bacardi and Cola reference, it's from a series of commercials that aired a few years ago (when I wrote this). Bacardi was a white guy with a cheesy mustache and Cola was a black guy. Together they "Get the job done." The ads were very 70's-ish, and pretty funny. You can probably find the ads on YouTube if you're curious. **


	7. Chapter 7

As it turned out, Wilson had already eaten and was making rounds with his patients, so House was on his own for lunch. He grabbed a sandwich, some chips and a soda and brought it back to his office to eat in peace, away from the crowds of worried loved ones and nosy hospital staff in the cafeteria.

He was just about finished with his meal when the smell of popcorn hit his nostrils, bringing immediate images of Cameron and her little pink tongue to mind. The way she'd eaten it at the movies was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. His response was Pavlovian; the smell went straight from his nostrils to his groin. With a groan of frustration, he hefted himself out of his seat and followed the scent to the conference room, where he found Chase pulling a bag out of the microwave.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he admonished, knocking the bag of popcorn out of Chase's hands with his cane.

"Dammit House! Have you gone mad?" Chase huffed, glaring at him as he scooped the bag off the floor.

Ignoring him, House grabbed it from his hands and immediately dumped it in the trash. Fixing Chase with a stern look, he growled, "No popcorn!"

"What the hell? I'm not allowed to have popcorn now?" Chase flipped his hair out of his eyes angrily.

"I don't pay you to eat popcorn. Haven't you got work to do?"

"No. We don't have a case. I've already done my clinic hours and some of Cameron's..."

"Well then go do some of my clinic hours," House ordered, tossing his name badge without warning and smirking when it almost hit Chase in the head. "And don't stop to fix your hair on the way," he added. "I think you've reached your quota of hair care products for today."

Chase brushed past Wilson on his way out, muttering "sorry" as they nearly collided.

"Torturing your employees again?" Wilson asked as he sauntered in, his hands in his pockets. "You know, you could take a cue from Cameron and be a little nicer."

"Right, and you could stop cheating on your wives," he shot back, moving back to his desk.

"That well never goes dry, does it?" Wilson sighed.

"Nope. It's artesian," he quipped, sitting behind his desk and starting a search on his computer while Wilson sat opposite him. "Where've you been anyway? I had to buy my own lunch."

Wilson gasped in exaggerated shock. "You bought your own lunch? I'll alert the media."

"Bwahahaha," House fake laughed before going back to his search.

"So, how was your date, really?" Wilson settled back in his chair as if preparing for a good gossip session.

"Great. She had the ravioli, I had the puttanesca." Meeting Wilson's eyes briefly, he waited for the real inquisition to begin.

"Yes, because I really wanted to know about the food," Wilson sighed impatiently. "Did you pull out her chair for her? Compliment her earrings and shoes? Ask her what she wanted out of life?"

"Yes mom, I was a perfect gentleman." He turned away to hide his guilty expression, but it was too late.

"What did you do, House?"

"Hypothetically...I might have told her she only wanted me because I'm damaged. That she has a pathological need to fix people and she's chosen me as her next charity case."

Wilson groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You didn't?" he asked, but they both knew he already had the answer.

"She took it surprisingly well," House continued. "After that, her company was quite pleasant." He didn't mention the part about following her to the movie theater, nor the fact that she'd tried to get rid of him. He'd already disclosed more than he'd intended.

Wilson opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish, obviously perplexed with the last part of the story. Before he could ask anything further, House changed the subject. "You ever hear of Dr. Kyle Phillips?" he asked, waving toward the computer.

Wilson leaned forward to get a better view of the monitor, staring at the picture of Phillips without recognition. "No, what's his specialty?"

"He's an intensivist. Graduated from Hopkins in '93."

"Why so interested? You planning on hiring him?"

House fixed him with his best _you're a moron _look. "And replace Chase? He's got a lot more sucking up to do before I set him free. Phillips is treating Cameron's dad."

"Ahhhh," Wilson drew out, his face a picture of sudden understanding. "And you don't like it that he's young, virile, handsome, and available to your pretty immunologist right now. I mean, what distraught family member wouldn't want to be reassured by a doctor with those sensual lips and gentle, dreamy eyes?"

"You really are gay, aren't you?" House said impatiently. "I just want to make sure he's qualified to treat more than a head cold. The sooner he cures her dad, the sooner she comes back."

"Right. 'Cause you miss her. You luuurrve her," he teased, and ducked when House threw his sandwich wrapper at his head.

"I don't miss her, you moron," House insisted. "There's just an imbalance in the team without her. Ebony and Ivory have lost that lovin' feeling. And the mail is piling up. Think of all those poor potential patients out there who are missing out on Cameron's kindly worded rejections." He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout, sniffed and blinked away fake tears.

Wilson shook his head at this, stood and started making his way out of the office. Turning at the door, he pointed at House and said, "You're in denial...and for the record, I am NOT GAY!" Two passing nurses gave him a funny look, and House smirked at Wilson's reddened face.

After Wilson left, House sat contemplating Dr Phillips. He'd never admit it out loud, but Wilson was right about the young, handsome, and available part. The guy looked like every woman's dream. Of course, he also looked perfectly healthy and that would be a huge turn off for Cameron. Unless of course he was mistaken about his theory that she only went for damaged men. But he was rarely ever wrong and didn't want to think about the implications _if _this was one of those rare occasions.

Then again, what was a Hopkins grad doing out in the middle of butt crack, USA? Maybe, House theorized, there really was something wrong with the guy. Unless--and at this he rolled his eyes--Phillips was one of those do-good docs that wanted to bring his medical expertise to the poor and medically deprived among the amber waves of grain and the fruited plains. Wouldn't someone like that appeal to Cameron, whose heart was three sizes too big as it was?

His cell phone vibrated on his desk, sliding across the glass, and he started to wonder if she had some kind of radar that made her call every time he was thinking about her.

"Spare me the details and just tell me I was right," he answered. "I'd like to get right to the basking."

"He's negative for Lyme," she responded, dejected. "Any other ideas?"

The desperate sound in her voice melted another chunk of ice around his heart. Pulling out the crumpled page of symptoms in his pocket, he asked, "What's his history?"

"There's nothing that fits. No history of cancer, heart disease, diabetes...He has high blood pressure, but otherwise he's always been healthy."

He heard papers shuffling around and then she said, "He had a check up just three months ago, got a flu shot and a clean bill of health."

And there it was, the epiphany that would eventually come with every complex case presented to him. "Get an LP and check his protein levels," he ordered, "and call me back when you've got the results."

**A/N: Some of the dialogue between House and Wilson in this chapter was paraphrased directly from the episode _Love Hurts_**. **It's just a couple of lines, but if you recognize it, that's probably why. All due credit to the writers of that episode.**


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. Phillips' office was slightly less cheerless than the rest of the hospital, with it's ocean blue paint scheme, and seaside prints on the walls. Cameron plopped herself down on the wing chair in the corner and allowed her head to loll back and her eyes to close briefly. Relief at having a diagnosis conflicted with dismay that she had missed the obvious.

Guillain-Barre Syndrome.

It wasn't as if she was surprised that House had solved the mystery again, it was just... Was she such a pathetic excuse for an immunologist that she couldn't even diagnose her own father with an autoimmune disorder?

Tempted to fling her legs over the arm of the chair and sleep for a week, she opted instead to make the phone call she'd come in here to make. She flipped her phone open and dialed House's number, quirking her eyebrows in surprise when he answered with, "So I take it his protein levels were elevated?"

"Y-Yes," she stuttered, unsettled by his ability to throw her off balance with just a few words. He couldn't even answer the phone like a normal person, which she should've learned to expect by now. But then, she'd always though his unpredictability was part of his charm. "They've started him on plasmapheresis," she continued, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Well that was boring," he declared, as if boring was one of the seven deadly sins.

She rolled her eyes and pushed her hair behind her ears. "Sorry my dad's illness couldn't have been more exciting for you."

"Not your fault," he replied.

"I can't believe I didn't..."

He cut her off with, "There's a reason we're not supposed to treat family members. I'd be more worried about you if you had figured it out."

"You're worried about me?" she asked, unable to keep the hope out of her voice. Met with silence, she could practically see him rolling his eyes and trying to backtrack.

"Figure of speech," he muttered impatiently.

"How did you figure it out anyway?"

"Flu shot."

Frustrated, her head fell back against the chair again, her body tensing with annoyance at herself. Even a first year med student would have remembered the correlation between flu shots and Guillain-Barre.

"Cameron, stop clenching," he ordered, and she automatically released a breath and relaxed her muscles. His ability to read her, even over the phone, was nothing short of eerie. "If anyone should've figured it out, it's Phipps," he continued. "Let's hope the nurses there aren't as incompetent as that moron."

"Phillips," she corrected, smiling genuinely for the first time all day.

"Whatever. He's an idiot. Your dad's lucky you're there."

She savored his words like hot soup on a cold day, letting them warm her from the inside out. It was the highest compliment he'd ever paid her. "Thanks, House," she answered, her voice soft with emotion.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "So when will you be back?"

"I just got here, House. I don't know...I need to be here for a while. I have to see my dad through this." She puffed out a breath of air in frustration. "You... miss me?"

"Nope. My mail is stacking up. All those letters just sitting there crying out for girly G's."

Grinning, she responded, "I think they can wait. Or you can go back to putting them all in the circular file, like you used to."

"Blasphemy," he declared dramatically. "Who are you and what have you done with my Cameron? She'd never suggest such a thing."

Her insides fluttered at the phrase "my Cameron," but she didn't acknowledge the words, knowing it would only embarrass him and make him pull out all the snark he could muster. He was so like a junior high school boy sometimes.

There was a long awkward silence that made her realize that she was about to lose this tenuous connection with him. Now that her father was diagnosed, there'd be no reason to call him anymore. She felt a little jolt of something akin to panic at the thought of not seeing or speaking to him for days or weeks. He would scoff at her if he knew what she was thinking.

"I guess... I should go. Dr Phillips would probably like his office back now."

"Cameron..." Waiting for him to continue, she held her breath. "Don't be a stranger," he finished, his voice low and gravelly, then he hung up before she could respond. It was as close as he'd ever get to saying "I'll miss you, come back soon," she knew and she stored away the words in a secret place somewhere in the recesses of her heart, where she could pull them out again on lonely days when she was missing him.

When she finally exited the hospital, she was met with a thick darkness that hung over the landscape like black velvet. Without all the ambient lights that she was used to with New Jersey's heavier population, the night seemed to wrap around her like a blindfold. Even the lights of the hospital parking lot did little to dispel the feeling of claustrophobia the inky sky gave her.

She crammed herself between her mom and Matt in the cab of Matt's truck, clutching her suitcase awkwardly on her lap. Rain began falling from the sky as if in a rush to saturate the earth, each heavy drop competing to be the first to hit its mark. The only sound in the truck was the back and forth swish of the wiper blades as they tried to keep up with the rain.

Finally her mom broke the silence, jostling the suitcase in her efforts to look her daughter in the eyes. "This Guillain-Barre...You've treated it before?"

"Yes," Cameron answered simply.

"Then what Dr. Phillips said is true? He'll recover from this?"

Her mother seeking reassurance from her was as stunning an event as her father's illness. She couldn't remember a time when her mom seemed to want something from her that involved emotions, let alone comfort. Their relationship had always been defined by how well she followed her mother's orders. If she did what she was told, then she could count on being politely ignored. If she didn't then she would face a stern lecture delivered in a clipped, disapproving voice, which would inevitably include a laundry list of criticisms that had nothing to do with whatever infraction she had committed.

"The long-term prognosis is good. But we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that he's going to get a lot worse before he gets better." She craned her neck to the side, casting a sympathetic look at her mom as she continued. "He'll be in excruciating pain. They'll give him a morphine drip, but the morphine can cause hallucinations. His lungs may shut down, and if that happens he'll be put on a respirator. With the breathing tube down his throat, he won't be able to talk. And when he finally starts to recover, he may need months of physical therapy to learn to walk again."

Her mother's hands were clenched together as if in prayer, but Cameron knew better. She reached over and covered those hands with her own, but her mother moved away like a skittish animal sensing a threat.

Bringing her hand back to her suitcase with a sigh, she wondered if this was the pattern of her life; reaching out to those she loved, only to have them pull away.


	9. Chapter 9

When they arrived home from the hospital, they rushed through the downpour and into the house where Cameron had grown up, crowding just inside the back door to wipe muddy feet on the welcome mat. Once inside, the smell of home hit her; that undefinable and unique smell that went unnoticed until returning from a long absence. It made her think of cinnamon and apples and spring lilacs and clean laundry all mixed together with bittersweet memories.

Matt's wife, Shelly, was there to greet them, in her arms a chubby, dimpled baby boy with navy blue eyes and soft brown hair. Except for the eyes, he resembled Matt.

Cameron greeted Shelly with a quick, one armed hug. "I'm soaked," she said, pulling back. "I don't want to get you and Greg all wet."

"That's okay," Shelly answered with a warm smile, adjusting the baby on her hip. "It's just so good to see you."

"It's good to see you too. And this little guy..." She reached out toward Greg and let him grasp her finger in his baby fist. He grinned and buried his face in the crook of his mother's neck, peeking out shyly.

"Do you think you could move this little love fest inside? Matt and I would like to come in too," her mom grouched from behind her.

Cameron sighed and grabbed her suitcase, heading toward her childhood bedroom. "As soon as I dry off, I want to get properly acquainted with Greg," she called over her shoulder. Grinning, her mind went straight to the gutter as she imagined all the ways she wanted to get properly acquainted with Greg House as well. Among other things, she wanted to run her tongue over his Adam's apple and up his neck to his earlobe, and place kisses up his spinal column while her fingers counted his ribs and teased the fine hairs on his chest. She wanted skin on skin, his touch on every part of her. But even more than that, she wanted to know what would make him laugh. Not a sarcastic guffaw, but a spontaneous sincere laugh. Sometimes she wondered if he was even capable of it. His smile was genuine and easy at the monster truck rally, but she had yet to hear him laugh.

Matt was right behind her, heading for the stairs to the second floor, where he, Shelly and the baby were sleeping until their new house was built. The familiar creaking of the steps was like a favorite tune on the soundtrack of her childhood. It would always remind her of Matt, charging up those stairs to his room to get his ball glove or his hockey skates. He never could take them slowly and had a quirky habit of skipping every third step, and tonight was no exception.

Her own bedroom was on the main floor and to the right of the staircase which bisected the hallway between her room and the master bedroom. Nestled between the laundry room and the living room, it was the smallest room in the house. On one end stood a chest of drawers with a mirror above it, and on the other end were matching twin beds sandwiching a nightstand. There was a tiny closet behind the bedroom door, empty aside from a few plastic hangers and some extra linens on the shelf.

The room was familiar in its ultra feminine decor, from the wallpaper with stripes of tiny flowers in pink, lavender and green to the quilts covered in a pattern of dragonflies. Her mom had chosen the wallpaper and quilts years ago, even though Cameron had wanted her room to be painted a light green with comforters that had soft colored squares in greens and yellows and blues. She'd never been given a say in the decorating of her own bedroom, including the twin beds that her dad insisted would be practical for when she had her "little friends over to spend the night." Wishful thinking on his part, she imagined, because she'd never wanted to invite her friends over in the first place.

Plopping her things down on one of the beds, she opened her suitcase and pulled out some yoga pants and a soft white t-shirt to change into. Hanging her wet things on the end of the bed, she then took a few minutes to place her clothes neatly in the drawers, hanging a few pieces and stowing her suitcase in the closet.

Enticing smells were drifting through the house, reminding her that she hadn't had a real meal since...well, since last night when she'd ordered the ravioli and picked at it in dismay, while House had inhaled his puttanesca as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed between them. Somehow that seemed like a lifetime ago.

When she entered the combined kitchen and dining room, her mom was holding the baby and Shelly was placing a meatloaf on the table. Matt had a serving spoon in his hand and looked about ready to devour the entire bowl of mashed potatoes that sat before him. She suspected he'd already snuck a taste or two.

They all sat down to eat, like some sort of sitcom family whose problems would be solved in the space of a half hour, passing around food and talking affectionately. It was all so nauseatingly normal, except for the absence of her dad and the emotional distance from her mom.

Cameron felt like a spectator, an outsider watching the easy interactions of her family. Her mom smiled and cooed at her grandchild as he blinked sleepy eyes at her from his swing in the corner. Matt and Shelly seemed to read each others thoughts, as she piled more food on his plate and he squeezed her hand in appreciation. And the worst was, Shelly and "Jill" spoke like mother and daughter in a way that Cameron had always wished her mom would speak to her. It wasn't that she was jealous of Shelly's relationship with her mom, but their closeness served to highlight the distance that Cameron had always known. She had not been here an hour and already she felt all her old insecurities rearing their ugly heads, like she was suddenly twelve years old all over again.

After helping with the clean up, Matt kissed the baby and Shelly, and went out to the garage to tinker with an old muscle car he was restoring with their dad. Building new things or restoring old ones, Matt had always liked working with his hands, and tonight she knew it was a coping mechanism to distract him from his worries.

Cameron carried a sleeping Greg upstairs to the nursery with Shelly hovering behind her. She gave him a soft kiss, promising to play with him tomorrow, before handing him over to his mom. Shelly placed him in his crib, fussing over him a bit before adjusting the volume on the monitor and shutting off the light just as his little eyes closed in sleep.

They went down to the living room to talk, but Jill was sprawled on the couch watching the local news, so they went to Cameron's room instead and collapsed on the two beds like teenagers at a sleepover.

"You look good," Cameron said, indicating Shelly's slim figure.

"Thanks," Shelly blushed, smoothing her hand over her shirt self-consciously. "You too."

Cameron chuckled at that. "Well I didn't just have a baby." Pausing for a moment, she considered her words. "You look...happy."

"I am. I've got everything I thought I never wanted," she said with a laugh. "I'm not changing the world, but... I love my life. Still, I can't help but envy you a bit. It must be an amazing feeling to help people, save lives."

"It has it's moments. But Shelly, you're changing your corner of the world, and raising the next generation to make it a better place. That's just as important."

Shelly tucked her blond hair behind her ears and smiled. "I hope so. Greg is such an amazing little guy. I can hardly remember what it was like before he came along."

"He's beautiful. Why did you name him Greg?" Cameron asked, plucking at a loose thread on the quilt.

"It was my grandfather's name," Shelly answered simply, staring off into the distance at a memory only she could see. "He was... a really wonderful man. I miss him."

A wonderful man. Those words rattled around Cameron's head for a while. Greg House was also a wonderful man in his own House-like way, but she had a feeling he didn't know how wonderful he truly was. All this distance between them and she couldn't stop thinking about him and missing him. What was the saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? If that was true, she was in big trouble, because she didn't think her heart could handle much more fondness where House was concerned.

She and Shelly talked a while longer and then bid each other goodnight.

Cameron went to bed, curling up under the cool sheets and listening to the house settle around her for the night and the sound of the train whistle in the distance. She could vaguely make out some news program on the television--not surprising as her mother was a bit of a news addict with a tendency to nod off on the couch.

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of House, his long piano fingers playing a melody against her skin. He strummed her like a guitar, setting her body to humming a sensual tune. His lips were on her, calling forth the sounds of woodwinds; a flute, a clarinet in a sweet and lilting harmony that was both achingly familiar and completely unknown. The notes were coming from her, visibly rising off her body in glorious technicolor, then evaporating in the air like bubbles.

When she awoke she was sweaty, breathless and terribly aroused.


	10. Chapter 10

Eleven weeks, three days and sixteen hours. That's how long Cameron had been away.

House sat on her sofa eating Chinese take out and thumbing through her mail for anything juicy. His own mail was piled in messy stacks on the desk in the conference room waiting for her attention, but here he was opening hers. The irony of the situation did not escape him.

He skipped through all the bills and credit card applications, sending them sailing across the room like frisbees, and went straight to the Victoria's Secret catalogue. Attached to the back was a little card offering a free pair of panties, which he tossed aside immediately when he realized they were one step away from granny panties. He'd already been through Cameron's drawers and as far as he was concerned, she'd reached her quota of boring underwear. Of course, another inspection wouldn't hurt, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything good. He was nothing if not thorough.

He limped his way back to her bedroom, pulled open the second drawer of her bureau and began rifling through it. On one end she had quite a collection of cotton bikinis in floral prints, stripes, and solid colors. _Predictable._ And yet the image of her in nothing but those simple garments made his groin twitch with pleasure. _Maybe not so boring after all._

In the middle of the drawer she had cotton thongs, and on the other end were satin and lace thongs and boy shorts with matching bras. It was so like her to have her underwear drawer neatly organized. The idea of her folding each piece and placing it neatly in its assigned spot in the drawer was oddly erotic, her slender hands moving over the sensual fabric as if she were filing charts away in the office.

Plucking out a lace thong and rubbing the nubby scrap of material between his fingers, he wondered if she'd ever worn them beneath her modest work apparel. His imagination conjured up an image of her standing in the lab running gels in her fussy vests and trousers, while underneath she was covered in barely-there lace and satin, and he released a low growl of desire at the thought.

Stuffing the garment back in the drawer, he left her bedroom and went back to the couch, flopping across it with his feet resting on the arm. He flipped through the catalogue again, picking out a few things he would buy for Cameron if he were in a position to buy lingerie for her. Then he started imagining her in each piece, and then himself peeling them off her, revealing her perfectly proportioned curves to his eager eyes. But when he started getting too aroused, he tossed the magazine aside and turned his thoughts to something else. He had no qualms about eating in her living room, going through her mail, or rifling through her underwear drawer, but masturbating on her couch was pushing the boundaries even for him.

When she'd given him her spare key to bring in her mail, he'd taken it as implicit permission to snoop. The most interesting things he'd found were her wedding album and her high school yearbooks. It surprised him to find that she was not the homecoming queen he'd imagined, but rather, she looked a bit nerdy in high school, with large round glasses perched on her delicate face and a shadowy smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Even so, he could see the beauty that she would become behind the bookish looks of her childhood.

Her wedding pictures told a different story. She was breathtaking; young and virginal in her pristine white dress, looking into her husband's face with utter adoration as if she'd found the place where she belonged. From what he could tell, the wedding had been small and simple with only a few friends and immediate family. There were pictures of her with her father, a tall man with cheekbones like Cameron's and those same eyes that reminded him of the Atlantic after a storm. This was the man whose illness had taken her away; a thought that stirred up a strange resentment within him.

The last page was full of more intimate images of the bride and groom; Cameron being dipped and kissed passionately by her husband, the two of them dancing closely, and one where they fed each other cake. Those pictures evoked feelings in him that were better left crammed into the shadowed corners of his psyche, so he closed the album and put it back on the shelf.

Clicking on her TV, he poured himself some bourbon from the bottle he'd brought from home and became engrossed in Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. A few hours later he was fast asleep on her couch, the remains of his dinner strewn across her coffee table.

He dreamed of Cameron. It was just the two of them, dancing on a polished wooden island in the middle of the ocean. One slender hand rested over his heart as he held her close and lowered his head to kiss her. But before he could make contact, she spun away and into the arms of a dead man whose flesh flaked off him in little specks and drifted away like ashes from a fire. She seemed not to notice at first, but then she frantically tried to catch the tiny pieces in her billowing white skirt while the dead man just laughed and laughed. House called out to her, tried to pull her back but the dead man reached her first and shoved her into the sea, grinning maniacally as sharks circled around her. Diving in after her, House had barely made one stroke toward her when the jaws of a great white clamped down on his right thigh and pulled him under the ocean's waves.

He awoke with a jolt, breathing heavily and vowing never to watch Shark Week again. Pain rippled through his thigh like sonar waves, prompting him to grab for his Vicodin while letting loose an agony induced string of obscenities that would probably make a hardened convict blush.

Once the drug began to take affect and he felt himself calming, he grabbed his things and went home to shower and change for another boring day at PPTH.

Sitting at his desk a few hours later, he held his cell phone in his hand and just stared at it. He was running out of excuses to call her, having already used "where's the sugar" and "Foreman can't find the coffee filters" and "where did you put so and so's file." He'd also called her a number of times just to make her participate in the differential of whatever patient they'd had. Currently he was contemplating making up a bunch of symptoms and calling her with a pretend patient.

"Have you thought about just asking her to come back?"

House looked up to see Foreman standing in the doorway, Chase shadowing him.

"Got a new case?"

Foreman shook his head and stepped further in the room.

"Then get the hell out," House scowled, waving his hand in dismissal.

Sighing heavily, Foreman darted a glance at Chase. "Believe me, if we didn't have to be here, we wouldn't. You've been more obnoxious than usual since Cameron left. But Cuddy wants the charting from the last three months done by the end of next week. She sent us up here to tell you, and I quote, _he'll be ass deep in rectal exams and crotch swabs for the next six months if he doesn't get it done._"

"Fine. Message delivered. Now get out!"

Just because Cameron wasn't there didn't mean he was acting any different than any other time. The idea was ridiculous. He wasn't attached to her, didn't like her and certainly didn't miss her. The only reason he was suddenly struck with the idea of taking a quick trip to Ohio over the weekend was to talk her into coming home. To New Jersey and her job. Not for any other reason. Cuddy was pressuring him to fill her spot, even temporarily, and he was tired of hearing her drone on about the shortage of doctors in the clinic and about how his foul mood was affecting the whole hospital, blah, blah, blah. It was all bullshit as far as he was concerned, but if getting Cameron to come back would shut Cuddy up, it would all be worth it. Yup, he was even willing to take a trip to Butt Crack, USA just to get Cuddy off his back.

Before he could think too much about it, he booked his flight online, and headed out so he could pack and be on his way.

Wilson caught up with him at the elevator, ugly tie like a neon sign hanging around his neck. "Sneaking out early again?"

"Of course not. That would just be irresponsible," he deadpanned, as he silently willed the doors to open.

"You miss Cameron," Wilson said, in the tone of someone stating the obvious. "You know, you could just admit your feelings for her and deal with them like an adult."

"And you could stop cheating on your wife, and then you wouldn't have to wear the ugly ties she buys you simple because you feel too guilty to refuse," House retorted, pressing the button for the elevator impatiently.

Wilson ignored the barb with a roll of his eyes and a sigh, stepping into the car beside House. "Fine, we'll just both keep pretending you feel nothing."

"If I really thought you could do that, I'd be a happy man," House responded, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"No you wouldn't," Wilson said with a knowing smile, before changing the subject. "Sooo, you wanna hang out tonight?"

"Nope. Got plans. Hookers night," he lied, gaze cast upward as the elevator descended.

"Hookers? As in plural?" Wilson asked, a skeptical look on his face.

"Yup. I'm in the mood for a threesome. But if you're a good boy I'll let you watch the video later."

"Ugh!" Wilson replied, shaking his head in disgust, and stepping out of the elevator as it opened to the second floor.

House smiled as the doors slid shut behind him. If he could just avoid Cuddy, he'd be home free. On his way to see Cameron. A thought that made him far happier than he'd felt in eleven weeks, four days, and five hours.


	11. Chapter 11

If it wasn't for the navigational device in his rental car, House would be lost amongst the cornfields, unable to find Cameron's parent's house. This town was one step above Walnut Grove. He half expected to see Laura "Half-pint" Ingalls and her Pa emerging from one of the barns, preparing to hitch the horses to the wagon for a ride to Olsen's Mercantile. And then he realized how old he was if his pop culture references were dating back to around the time Cameron was born.

His leg ached with the reminder of the flight and the long drive, cramping up and begging for movement. So it was with great relief that he pulled into the gravel driveway of her childhood home. He parked the car beside a well-worn truck and a sedate looking blue Honda and got out, looking around for any sign of life in human form, and popping a Vicodin into his mouth.

The house was almost exactly as he'd imagined it--a white two story farmhouse with green shudders and a small porch off the front, planters of brightly colored geraniums dangling from the overhang and pink and purple pansies planted strategically around the structure. The driveway led beyond the house to a large detached garage, which he imagined to be filled with small farm equipment, tools, and other deadly implements used in horror movies to torture and maim unsuspecting victims. Or maybe that's where Pa kept the wagon.

There was an almost unsettling quiet here which was so unlike Princeton. The chirping of robins and blue jays and the trilling sound of tree frogs were more prominent than the man made sounds of home that he was accustomed to. No traffic, no pedestrians gripping cell phones in one hand and expensive designer coffees in the other as they trudged to their destinations, oblivious to the world around them. The flat dense earth here seemed to absorb every little noise, like a thick carpet spread over the ground.

The screen door swung open with a squeak and a young man stepped out, looking at House with curiosity and striding toward him, his feet crunching across the gravel. "Can I help you?" he asked.

House recognized him from Cameron's wedding album, but had not guessed he was related. He could see no real family resemblance to Cameron and somehow that made him nervous. This guy could be her childhood sweetheart who'd secretly pined for her all these years and had finally made his move on her now that she was home. He was probably accepted into the family like some long lost son and all that was left was to plan the wedding. House felt his stomach lurch at the fairytale sappiness of it all.

"I'm looking for Cameron," he finally answered, darting his glance away and out over the neighboring field.

"Cameron?" The young man scratched his head in confusion for a second before realization hit. "You mean Ally?"

House ran his thumb over his forehead, his mind twisting around the word Ally. Sometimes he forgot that Cameron wasn't actually her first name. "Yes, Ally," he confirmed, tasting the nickname as if it were some exotic food he'd never tried.

"I'm Ally's brother, Matt McKenzie." He studied House like he would a used car he was considering for purchase. House half expected Matt to march all the way around him so he could examine him from every angle.

Sure, he had a dent in his right side and a lot of miles on him, but he was in good shape for his age. "Wanna kick the tires?" he quipped, wryly.

Chuckling, Matt replied, "Nice to meetcha," and held his hand out for a hand shake.

House lifted his cane to indicate he couldn't shake hands, a ploy he used often to avoid unwanted human contact. He puzzled over the name McKenzie, having expected Cameron's family to be...well, Camerons. If they weren't, then that meant that Cameron had taken and kept her husband's last name; a little tidbit he stored away to take out and examine later.

"Greg House. Is Cam...Is Ally here?"

"You're Dr. House?" Matt asked, with a look of astonishment on his face.

Obviously she'd spoken of him, but exactly what she'd said was the question. The look on Matt's face could have several interpretations. _You're Dr. House, the bastard who broke my sister's heart?_ seemed the most likely.

"Yes," he answered, stifling the urge to make a snarky remark about repeating himself. "Is she here?"

Just then the screen door squeaked open and a man in a wheelchair poked his head out. "We got company, Matt? Don't be rude, invite him in," he called.

"I was getting to that," Matt responded with a bit of impatience. "Dr. House, won't you please come in," he offered with an exaggerated sweep of his arm and a mischievous roll of his eyes.

House followed him toward the door, limping up the homemade wooden ramp. He was ushered in and led to a living room, where the man in the wheelchair, Cameron's father, was parked next to the couch, newspapers scattered across the coffee table in front of him.

There were only faint remnants of the robust man House remembered from her wedding album. The Guillain-Barre had left his skin sallow and sagging, his once stocky build decimated to a mere skeleton covered in loose clothing. His eyes were bright and intelligent though, exactly like his daughter's.

Matt began the introductions, while House swallowed down his discomfort at being thrust in the middle of a social situation he hadn't exactly prepared for. Somehow he had imagined that he'd find Cameron here alone and never have to deal directly with her family. He realized now how foolish and unrealistic that notion had been.

"Dad, this is Dr. House, Ally's boss. He's not a hand shaker, just so ya know." He placed his hand to the side of his mouth and whispered dramatically, "It's the cane." Then he grinned at House with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

House's eyebrows shot up at the unexpected dig, wondering if Matt was just a natural smartass or if Cameron had told him about his anti-social tendencies and Matt was mocking him for them. Whichever it was, his esteem for Matt just rose a notch.

Her dad eyed the cane briefly and then smiled in welcome. "Jack McKenzie. Nice to meetcha. Ally speaks very highly of you."

As he spoke, a woman came in with a glass of water in hand, passing it to Jack. Again, House recognized her from the photo album, but she looked nothing like Cameron. DNA never lies, and something here was off. Before he left this culturally forsaken place, he would unravel this mystery like a cat with a ball of yarn.

"Hello," she said, with a curious smile on her face. Noting the newspapers scattered across the coffee table, she began gathering them up with a flutter of embarrassment.

"Jill, stop fussing." Jack took the papers from her hand and stuffed them between his leg and the wheelchair. "This is Ally's boss, Dr. House. He doesn't shake hands," he said, matter of factly. "Dr. House, this is my wife, Jill. Ally's mom."

By this time, House was looking at the front door longingly. He was beginning to feel trapped and wondered just where in the hell was Cameron and why was he being forced to suffer through her family reunion without her. He hadn't even spoken a word since entering the house, but no one seemed to have noticed. Nor did it seem to occur to them to ask him what he was doing there.

"It's nice to meet you," Jill said, raising her hand briefly before realizing what she'd done and dropping it to her side again. "Please, sit down. Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Perhaps some fresh squeezed lemonade or some iced tea? Or I could mix up some chocolate milk."

"There's beer too, although it's a bit early in the day for beer. Not that that's ever stopped us before," Jack said with a comical wink.

He didn't have time to answer when a young woman with a baby on her hip entered the room. "Matt, I thought you were leaving?" she said, before noticing House standing on the other side of the room. "Oh hi. I'm Shelly, and this is Greg," she said, indicating the baby. She started toward him with her hand extended when Jill's voice stopped her.

"He doesn't shake hands, Shelly. Maybe he has a germ phobia. Like that detective on TV. What's his name?"

"Oh you mean _Monk_. I love that show," Shelly answered, placing the baby on the floor, where he immediately crawled to House and began grabbing at his cane. "He has more than just a germ phobia. He's got a whole list of phobias, like frogs and milk." Turning to House again, she lifted the half filled baby bottle in her hand and asked, "You're not afraid of milk too are you? Technically this is formula, but it is milk based."

Jill gasped with false concern. "Oh dear, here I was offering you chocolate milk. I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were afraid of it."

Matt's laugh echoed across the room in response, and Jack chuckled as well.

House rolled his eyes, exasperated. They were all nuts. He was officially in hell, and Cameron's family were Satan's minions. _Wait...did she say Greg?_

He raised his voice, cutting off another lesson in phobias and current television programming and the wide beverage selection of the McKenzie household, all patience gone. "Is there an Allison Cameron here?" He glanced at Matt, who had planted himself in the armchair and was watching with amusement.

Jill answered with a polite, if stiff, smile. "Of course. I believe Allison went out for a walk. I'm sure she'll be back soon."

Matt jumped from his seat and motioned for House to follow him out the door. "C'mon, I'll show you where she went."

House gladly followed, stepping around the baby and glancing back at four pairs of curious eyes before moving down the hall and through the back door again. He'd never imagined Cameron's family was so...insane.


	12. Chapter 12

_One of these things is not like the other._ The song was stuck in her head, thanks to baby Greg and his daily ration of _Sesame Street_. Kids all over America could pick her out of the lineup as the one that didn't belong.

Cameron had moved down the familiar path and out toward the fallow field that her father normally leased to local farmers, feeling a need to escape the house and her family for a while. Dad, mom, Matt and Shelly had a natural, easy camaraderie that made her feel excluded at times. Shelly seemed to have slipped into the void that Cameron had left, except that the fit was more comfortable, like a well worn pair of sneakers. Cameron was more like the pointy toed high heels that were too tight; the kind shoved to the back of your closet that you only pulled out when you were desperate and nothing else matched your dress.

Despite all her efforts to bridge the emotional gap between herself and her mother, she was no closer than she'd ever been. Her mom rebuffed all attempts at physical affection and spoke to Cameron only when she had to, no matter how persistently Cameron tried to get her to open up. Still she kept trying, because she didn't want to live her life with a series of what-ifs hanging over her like a thunder cloud. She had enough regrets already and she knew what it was like to lose someone before you'd told them everything you wanted them to know.

Her father needed her help during his recovery and physical therapy. But when that was no longer necessary, then what? She couldn't expect House to hold her job indefinitely, but she couldn't stay here either.

This place just didn't feel like home anymore. Maybe it never had. She suspected that no place ever would unless House was there. He made her feel as if she belonged when he wasn't even trying. One look from those electric eyes of his and it was as if no one else existed. He was the human equivalent of a warm blanket and a cozy fire on a cold winter night, whether he wanted to be or not.

But could she go back to Princeton and continue on like nothing had changed? She wasn't sure she could do that. Distance had not changed her feelings for House even a tiny bit. Well that wasn't exactly true. If it were possible, she was probably even more in love with him now. It didn't help that he'd called her nearly everyday, his voice stirring a sweet, aching desire within her that curled in her belly and spread through her like warm molasses, manifesting itself in vivid, erotic dreams. But she couldn't convince herself that he really needed her, not in the way she really wanted him to need her, and she was starting to think that a clean break might be the best thing. She just didn't know if she had the strength to do it.

How many miles, months, years would it take to purge House from her heart? Or was it even possible? As she contemplated this, she spotted him limping unevenly in the soft dirt. She blinked and turned away, convinced he was just an illusion or a trick of the sun; a mirage in her emotional desert.

House spotted her moving through the field, her pace unhurried and thoughtful, strands of hair fluttering away from her in the breeze like scattered sparrows. He knew that scenes like these were cliche... but she was breathtaking, like some kind of ethereal specter from the past, lit up from within by the setting sun behind her. He'd always thought of her as too young, too naive, too unaware of the crap that humans can dish out to one another. But at this moment it seemed as if Cameron had lived several lifetimes in just three decades. She looked like a woman who held all the secrets of life, good and bad, in her eyes. But he didn't want to think about that because it had far too many implications for...them. And there was no _them_. Still, that didn't explain why he had a sudden urge to wrap himself around her like a life preserver.

She turned back again and saw him moving toward her, his piercing gaze pinning her in place. He was no illusion, just flesh and blood. _And oh what amazing flesh it was._ She drew in a sharp breath. God, but he was beautiful--a force of life all on his own. She marveled at how he could command attention without even trying--sometimes without even desiring it. The idea of ignoring him was ridiculous, impossible, like trying to ignore lightning while standing in the middle of a field. And maybe just as destructive. And here she was, in the middle of a field, wondering if she was about to get burned.

As he drew near, the intensity of his eyes startled her anew. They were such a deep blue, an almost turquoise that would make the afternoon sky jealous. If she believed in God, she'd be tempted to think he created that color first. All others paled in comparison.

_"I'm not what you want, I'm what you need. I'm damaged."_

He'd gotten the need part right. She loved him, she wanted him, she needed him. _Like water, like breath, like rain._ The lyrics to some country song she'd heard recently whispered through her. Somehow she resisted the impulse to run into his arms and cling to him as if he was a life preserver.

Before she could collect herself, he was standing before her with an inscrutable expression on his face. "House," she murmured, on a breathy sigh. "What are you doing here?"

He looked away from her and back toward the house, ignoring her question because he wasn't ready to answer it yet. Wasn't even sure he knew the answer. "You never told me you were raised by lunatics," he said, only half joking.

"You've met my family?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Briefly. They're...interesting."

She smiled in response, almost disappointed that she'd missed the introductions. Her family had a quirky tradition of harassing new guests, like their own little hazing ritual, which usually began with Matt and spread as everyone took their cues from him. It was all meant in fun, and most people laughed over it later. Seeing House on the receiving end of their strange humor would've been a rare treat.

"They're also not all biologically related to you," he stated, quirking an eyebrow at her. "I find that _very_ interesting."

Leave it to House to figure that out within minutes of meeting her family. Sometimes that keen intellect of his was as frustrating as it was fascinating. Nothing seemed to get past him. And now that he was here, she worried that she'd have no secrets left. He'd twist and turn every detail of her life like a Rubik's cube until he had her all worked out. And then there'd be nothing left to hold his interest.

"Yes, it is interesting isn't it?" she muttered. "It's also none of your business." With that she started stalking back toward the house, knowing he would follow.

When they arrived, her family was sitting around the barbecue pit in the backyard, smoke curling toward the sky, carrying with it the scent of cooking meat. The grill was loaded with enough hamburger patties and hot dogs to incur a protest from PETA.

"Dr. House, I hope meat is not on your list of phobias," Jack began, gesturing toward Matt, who was wielding a pair of tongs and a spatula like a maestro and grinning. "We've got plenty."

"You have a list of phobias?" Cameron questioned, turning toward House. "I find that _very_ interesting."

He rolled his eyes at her, squirming under the scrutiny of the entire McKenzie clan. But his stomach rumbled and he had to admit that the food looked good.

"Where we gonna put him for the night?" Matt asked, waving the spatula in House's direction.

House spoke up for the first time. "I'll just stay in the nearest hotel."

Matt laughed outright at that. "Right. We'll just point you in the direction of the closest Motel 6. It's only a 2 1/2 hour drive. But you know their motto, _We'll leave the light on_," he drawled, a perfect mimicry of the voice from the commercials.

"House, there aren't any hotels around here. The closest one is near the airport," Cameron told him, her tone apologetic.

House cringed, mentally kicking himself for not thinking this trip through. He was seriously contemplating hopping back in his rental car and making good his escape.

"Ally's got two beds in her room," Shelly offered, and an awkward silence fell over the group at the suggestion. After the long pause, she continued. "Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. There's always the couch."

Jill cleared her throat at that and frowned, casting a glance at her husband in silent communication. She had trouble sleeping at night, unless she was crashed on the couch with the news on in the background.

"As much as I hate to say it, I don't think there's any other choice but Ally's room. We're pretty full up right now," Jack quipped, glancing between his daughter and House. "And we're all adults here...well, except for Greg."

At this House snapped his head up, thinking he was being mocked again until he realized that Jack was speaking of the baby.

He stole a glance at Cameron, noting that she looked pretty pissed off. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of a slumber party either. When he'd envisioned a sleepover with her, it didn't include the close proximity of her entire family. And he was afraid that even the pain in his thigh would not be enough to distract him from her stunning little body in such an intimate setting.

"Why don't you show him to his...erm, your room, Allison," Jill suggested. "There are extra linens in the laundry room if you need them."

House headed toward his car to retrieve his bag, still tempted to just get in and go back to the airport. Cameron was looking anything but welcoming right now. And yet, as she stood waiting for him, her arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the gravel, he knew he wanted to stay. If ever there was an opportunity to figure her out, this was it.

Yeah, he thought, this was going to be very interesting.


	13. Chapter 13

She would've procrastinated going to bed all night if her mother hadn't oh-so-subtly kicked them out of the living room so she could watch her news. Her mom's idea of subtlety had been to announce that it was bedtime, as if Cameron was six years old. God forbid her mom would ever have to miss Lou Dobbs. She'd probably twitch like a junkie in need of a fix.

Now Cameron was leading her curmudgeonly boss to her childhood bedroom to spend the night, like some bizarre pajama party. Except she was no longer a pre-pubescent girl eager to gush about the hottest new boy band or the dreamy quarterback of the high school football team. In all honesty, she'd never been that kind of girl anyway, preferring to read or study alone than to blather on about shallow, mindless things like a vacuous doll.

She was pretty sure this wasn't what her dad had in mind when he said he wanted her to have "her little friends" over to spend the night. And this scenario never entered her mind whenever she thought of sleeping with House, which was more often than she cared to admit.

"Aw, it's just like summer camp," he quipped as he flopped on one of the beds, his hands behind his head. "We can paint each others toenails and talk about boys all night."

"Oh yes, let's do. Who do you think is cuter, Chase or Wilson? Chase has the prettier hair, sure, but Wilson has those warm chocolate brown eyes." She yanked her pajamas out of the drawer, flustered and inexplicably angry. He had some nerve just showing up here unannounced. She was fine with it until now, when she was being forced into this rather intimate situation. What if she had another erotic dream about him while he was a mere three feet away? How embarrassing would that be? What if she called out his name in her sleep? He'd never let her live that down.

"I'm going to change," she muttered and left to head to the bathroom, pausing only a second when he called after her, "I hope it's something sexy. I really like those lace thongs of yours."

House took the opportunity to change from his jeans into his drawstring pajama pants and a clean t-shirt. He stuffed his duffle bag under the bed and hung his cane from the headboard. Popping a Vicodin and setting the vial on the nightstand, he resumed his position on the bed and waited for Cameron to come back.

Her room was nauseatingly feminine with the floral wallpaper and the dragonfly quilts. The only thing missing was the teddy bears and stuffed unicorns, and it would be just as he had imagined it. He wondered if she had stashed _Teen Beat_ magazines under the mattress, and what celebrities she had drooled over. He tried to conjur up the image of her lying on the bed, twirling a lock of hair and flipping through_ Seventeen _for the latest make up and fashion tips, but he couldn't reconcile the image with the Cameron he knew. There really wasn't anything frivolous about her now. He wondered if there ever had been.

He turned his thoughts to Cameron's family. They were weird--not like _the Osbourne's _weird or anything. They weren't screaming obscenities at each other or drunk off their asses all day. He just hadn't expected their strange humor. On the surface, the McKenzie clan looked like the perfect all-American family. But Jill seemed to vacillate between warm and welcoming to cold and distant, with the cold and distant part being aimed solely at Cameron. And she was the only one that called her Allison instead of Ally. He found that incredibly intriguing.

Cameron came back in the room wearing a snug fitting t-shirt and cotton boxer shorts that showed off her long slender legs. He took one look and forgot to breathe. His only thought was of pressing against her and having those legs wrapped around his body, his hands sliding across the smooth skin. He wanted to strum her like his guitar until she sang with passion and desire.

"You never answered my question, House," she said, staring him down from the end of the bed.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he stuttered, "W-What?"

"You never told me why you're here."

He watched her draw back the covers on her bed and slide between them, feeling strangely envious of the powder blue sheet that covered her.

"I'm here because I want you to come back. To your job," he answered, bouncing his gaze off of her and back again.

"Right. You could've just said that over the phone." She laughed a little at his discomfort.

"I did. You just weren't listening. I figured an in-person visit was the next step."

"Ah but you see, I left my House-to-English translator at home. Next time try saying what you mean. Literally," she stressed, smiling for the first time since he arrived.

"Right. I always forget you're so literal," he nodded.

After a long pause he continued with a smirk, reaching back to adjust the pillow behind him. "Soooo... your parent's names are Jack and Jill. It's no wonder you believe in fairy tales."

She almost didn't catch what he said, because his movements caused his t-shirt to stretch taut against his chest. For someone who gave off an aura of carelessness where his appearance was concerned, he was in amazing shape. His abdomen was flat, his biceps well-muscled. She had a sudden vision of running her fingertips over his chest, tracing out the letters M-I-N-E on his bare skin and then following it up with her tongue. She imagined pressing against him, the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms leaving little to her imagination about what they covered.

But her brain caught up with her ears, and she rolled her eyes and fussed with the quilt to hide the sudden rush of lust that struck her. "First of all, I don't believe in fairy tales, and second of all, Jack and Jill is a nursery rhyme."

"Same difference," he said, with a dismissive wave. "What interests me is that your mom is not the woman who gave birth to you. Your dad is, in fact, your dad. I'm on the fence about Matt. What's the deal? Did daddy dip his pen in someone else's ink?"

"You're a bastard." she glared, and then turned her back to him.

He felt a little bad about his remarks but he wasn't about to say so. He stretched his full length on the bed, jarring his foot on the iron foot board and hissing as pain shot through his thigh. "Shit," he cursed, trying to rub the ache away. His 6'2" frame was not meant to sleep in a twin size bed.

Cameron turned back to him, a look of sympathy on her face that made him roll his eyes. "You okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he grumped, propping himself against the pillow to give his legs more room. He grabbed his Vicodin off the nightstand and popped another one in his mouth.

"You want some water?"

"No."

"Want me to massage your leg for you?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

That's just what he needed, Cameron's hands all over him. Her proximity was arousing enough without that, especially in her current state of undress, which had already left him breathless. He didn't want a raging hard on while her mother slept in the next room. "You're just dying to get your hands on me, aren't you?" he said, covering his thoughts with a joke.

"Yes, I lured you here so I could have my wicked way with you while my parents slept in the next room. It's all part of my evil scheme." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"That's what I thought," he deadpanned. "Speaking of your parents..."

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?" she sighed.

"Have you ever known me to let things go? I'm like an immunologist with a dying patient. Oh wait...that's you," he mocked. "I'm more like a Great Dane with a meaty bone." He barked and gave her his best puppy dog expression. "C'mon Cameron, give it up."

Smiling a little, she swung those endless legs out from under the covers and over the edge of the bed, opening the nightstand drawer and pulling out a photo album. He studied her face, fascinated, as she flipped through a few pages and then back, her expression turning serious and thoughtful and a little bit sad. The look on her face did things to him, twisted up his insides like a bad case of food poisoning. Something about her called to him, made him do stupid things like fly to Ohio on a whim to see her. It was more than just her physical beauty, or that aura of tragedy she wore like veil of mourning. He wanted to know her, through and through, and then maybe he could vanquish these unfamiliar feelings.

He scooted over toward the wall and patted the spot next to him with a waggle of his eyebrows and a lewd grin, hoping to make her smile again.

She sat down reluctantly, her bare thigh brushing against his leg, touching the ravaged remains of his infarction. Perfection and destruction side by side. Her warmth seeped through the cotton of his pants like a healing balm against his scars. If this was what one brief touch could do to him, he wondered if he should reconsider the massage she'd offered.

She glanced at him with a nervous expression, shifting a bit closer and inhaling his scent, before opening the album and resting it against her knees. Being this close to him was intense, unsettling and comfortable all at the same time, like a good buzz. Her blood thrummed through her veins, making her feel like she could fly. Instinctively she knew that he would be addictive. One touch and she would want more, need more of him. What kind of rehab was there for an addiction like that, she wondered.

He took a deep breath, taking note of her fragrance--something sweet and feminine, not unlike Cameron herself. If he leaned just a little bit, he could place his lips on her bare shoulder and taste her. He had a feeling that would be his undoing. One touch of bare skin and it would be like pulling a loose thread. She would unravel him and he feared no one would be able to knit him together again once it was over.

He pulled his focus from her bare skin to the album in her lap, zeroing in on the first picture. A bride and groom. The woman looked so much like Cameron that he almost thought it was her; the same graceful, lovely features as those from the album at her place, the same loving gaze directed at the groom. It was deja vu.

"This is my mom," she said, her voice husky with emotion as her fingers caressed the photo of the woman in her dated wedding finery. "Melinda Mckenzie."

"She's beautiful," he said, without thinking. "You look just like her." His brain was already in overdrive, wondering what happened to this woman and what effect it had on Cameron. Had she become sick and died, prompting Cameron to pursue a career in medicine?

"So I've been told," she shrugged, wondering what everyone expected her to say to such compliments. It wasn't as if she had anything to do with it. She knew House thought of her as beautiful, he'd never made any secret of that. What she really wanted was for him to know her, through and through, and to think of her as an intriguing and beautiful person, not just a beautiful face.

She flipped past a few pages and stopped where the same woman held a newborn baby and smiled like she'd just been handed the moon and the stars. He could easily imagine that it was Cameron holding her own child and it did strange, medically unexplained things to his insides. "And this is me," she said, pointing to the baby.

"What happened to her?" he asked, almost dreading the answer. This could get emotional and he didn't deal well with emotions. Especially where Cameron was concerned. She had a way of burrowing past his barriers like some kind of mole and making him feel things he'd tried long and hard not to feel.

"She died when I was seven weeks old. Car accident."

"Ah, so it was just you and daddy, until the wicked stepmother came along." He cringed at the callous tone of his own voice. He hadn't meant it to come out that way. And yet, the fairytale-like plot was so...Cameron, that he couldn't help but scoff. She was probably still waiting for the fairytale hero to come along and rescue her and had foolishly cast him in the role. As if he could ever be someone's hero.

"Not exactly," she responded. "And she's hardly wicked."

Leave it to her to defend the woman who treated her like an unsightly speck of dust to be flicked away. She really was a masochist, he thought.

"My dad had no one to help with me. He couldn't exactly quit his job at the plant or take me with him. My mom...Jill, I mean, was also in a bad position. She had a four year old son to support. They were living in a back room at the truck stop out on the highway where she was a waitress." As she spoke, she kept her eyes on the picture of her mother, the woman who gave birth to her and whose life was snatched away just a short time later. "Somehow they found each other. I...don't really know the whole story. They got married when I was four months old and my dad adopted Matt so that we would all have the same last name. She's...the only mother I've ever known."

"Did she adopt you?" he asked, and she turned sharply to look at him. No one had ever asked her that. It was something she tried not to dwell on.

"No," she answered. "I guess it didn't seem necessary."

The silence that followed was heavy with meaning. She closed the album with a sort of reverence and got up from his bed to place it back in the drawer.

"Now you know," she murmured, turning out the lamp and crawling into her own bed. "'Night House."


	14. Chapter 14

Cameron snatched the bread out of the toaster and slathered it with butter before sitting down with Matt and Shelly and baby Greg. She rubbed her gritty eyes and yawned rather obnoxiously. One night with House and she was wore out, and not in a good way.

"You look like hell," Matt joked. "You and Dr. House have a...rough night? OW!" he cried, as Shelly smacked him hard on the arm. "I didn't mean it like _that_," he defended himself, shuddering in disgust. "She's my sister. You have a dirty mind," he said to his wife and waggled his eyebrows at her, "which I normally like, but save it for later tonight."

Cameron ignored Matt's antics, focusing instead on her toast. "He's...The bed is too small for him. I think his leg was bothering him," she confessed, leaving out the part where she had lain awake all night clenching because House was in pain and she felt helpless to do anything about it.

"We've got that queen size air mattress upstairs. Maybe he could sleep on that tonight," Shelly suggested, as she mixed formula for the baby.

"Yeah, maybe. But where are we gonna put it?" Cameron wondered.

"If we put the beds together and move your nightstand, I think there'd be enough space on the floor of your room," Matt offered, around a mouthful of cereal. Despite all his jokes and teasing, he had a big, generous heart that hated to see anyone suffer. Even misanthropic, antisocial bastards like House. And Cameron loved him all the more for it.

"Thanks Matt," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Are you still gonna watch Greg today? I mean...with your guest and all...I'll understand if you can't," Shelly chimed in distractedly, as she cleared away the breakfast mess.

"Of course, I'm still watching him. Greg and I have big plans for the day, don't we?" Cameron cooed at her nephew, who smiled and reached for a strand of her hair. She scooped him up and sat him on her knee, placing his bottle in his chubby hands and kissing the top of his head as he drank it down hungrily.

Matt had finished inhaling his own breakfast and was throwing together a Scooby Doo sized sandwich for his lunch later. "I've got enough time to move your bed before I leave for work," he said. "If Dr. House is up, we could do it now."

"I think he's in the shower."

Cameron handed the baby back to Shelly and followed Matt to her room. Between the two of them, they managed to lift one bed and place it above the other, forming bunks. She dragged the nightstand to the end of the beds and moved the lamp and alarm clock while Matt ran upstairs and brought down the air mattress, showing her how to inflate it before he left for work.

It was just beginning to swell with air when House came in, freshly showered and bare chested, his hair damp and sticking up at all angles, jeans hanging low on his hips. Cameron had never been more tempted to jump him than right that moment.

"What's all this?" he asked, reaching in his bag for a shirt and pulling it over his head. "Inflatable boyfriend? I never pegged you for the type."

"M-Matt thought you'd be able to sleep better on this," she explained, inwardly cursing herself for stuttering.

"So your chronic kindness is not just genetic. Your brother is infected with it as well."

"Only you would consider kindness a disease," she retorted. Stepping back to make room for the rapidly expanding mattress, her heel to caught on House's cane and she fell on her ass right at his feet.

"Graceful," he smirked, holding out a hand to pull her up. "I know how literal you are, but this falling for me thing is a little too obvious."

She could think of no response, so she settled for the standard eye roll as she placed her hand in his. He hoisted her up so suddenly, the momentum pulled her right up against his chest, and she almost knocked him over in the process. His arms held her to him, her hands curled around his biceps. If he hadn't put his shirt on already, her hands would be touching his bare skin. She was sure she'd have done something stupid, but oh so enjoyable, like run her tongue over his nipples and trace the veins on his arms with her fingertips. And why did he have to smell so good?

He held onto her far longer than was necessary, his gaze boring into hers like vivid blue lasers, and she was certain he knew exactly what she was thinking. Finally he turned away, digging for something in his bag as if her proximity had no effect on him whatsoever. Pulling out his vial of Vicodin, he popped one in his mouth before stuffing it in his pocket and turning back to her.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"I'm...babysitting my nephew," she said, regretting that it came out more like a question than a statement. Chewing her lower lip in concentration, she tried to think of ways to keep House entertained. Ways that didn't involve ripping off his clothing and taking a detailed anatomical survey.

House briefly entertained the notion of getting into his rental, driving to the airport and going home. Being this close to her had awakened up Mount Gregory and there was very little privacy to take care of his...needs himself. Besides, there was nothing to do here and he felt awkward and out of place. But there was something compelling about studying Cameron in her natural habitat. Something that held more appeal than going home to TiVo and expensive alcohol.

Shelly came in with the baby on her hip. "Ally, your mom and I are leaving now. There are bottles in the fridge if Greg gets hungry. Oh and make sure he doesn't..." She stopped, looking from Cameron to House and back again. "Are you sure you don't want me to take Greg with me? It's not a big deal if..."

"No, it's fine," Cameron answered, taking the baby from Shelly. "You go. Have fun."

She followed Shelly out of the room and out the back door, taking Greg's hand and waving it at his mother as Shelly and Jill left.

"So, you weren't invited to go...wherever they're going?" House asked, waving in the direction of the road. "That's just rude."

She jumped at the sound of his voice so close, his breath warm on her face, tickling the strands of hair along her temple. "They're going furniture shopping. I'd rather stay home and watch Greg," she shrugged. "And I need to help my dad with his physio exercises anyway." She moved to go back inside, House trailing behind her.

As soon as they were inside, House sighed dramatically and declared, "I'm bored. And hungry." He began opening cupboards and rummaging through them, pulling out a box of cereal with a mischievous grin. "Count Chocula?" he asked, immediately pulling out two more boxes. "Frankenberry and Boo Berry too?"

God, she was going to have to entertain two children today, apparently, she thought. And they were both named Greg. "Those are Matt's. There's bread and peanut butter, jelly, butter with cinnamon sugar...Help yourself." She gestured toward the counter where all the breakfast things were still laid out. "And didn't you bring your gameboy or whatever that thing is you play with in your office?"

"Wouldn't you like to know what I play with in my office?" he said with a waggle of his eyebrows, while smearing peanut butter on a slice of bread.

"Hey, Dr. House. Let's go get some air," Jack said, rolling himself past the kitchen and toward the door. "Bring your sandwich, you can eat it out here."

House bit back a sarcastic retort and murmured to Cameron, "Oh goody, is this where I get the 'what are your intentions toward my daughter' speech? And here I thought I was going to be bored." He dropped his sandwich on the counter and followed Jack out into the yard.

Cameron watched, concerned and yet moved by the sight of the two of them together. These were the two most important men in her life. They made quite a pair, one struggling to maneuver the wheelchair through the grass and the other leaning on his cane and moving with an uneven, yet strangely graceful gait. She had no idea what her father wanted to say to House. Not one single clue. She probably would've continued watching, trying to interpret through their expressions and gestures what they were talking about, but baby Greg demanded her attention.

House had barely sat down, when the interrogation started. "So... what are you doing here?" Jack asked, pinning House with that disconcerting gaze that was so much like Cameron's.

House suddenly found the side of the garage of great interest. "I came to get Cam...Allison to come back to work. I don't want to hire someone new," he answered, the end of his cane leaving divets in the grass where he tapped it unconsciously.

"And that's it?" her father asked, skeptically. "She has feelings for you."

"It's a crush. She'll get over it."

Jack laughed at that--the kind of laugh that said _you're an idiot if you really believe that_. "My daughter has never had a crush in her entire life. She never even showed any kind of romantic interest in anyone until she met Alex in college. And she married him. She tell you about that?"

House nodded, wanting nothing more than to limp away as fast as he could, but he felt paralyzed by those blue-green eyes looking at him so intently. And then there was the irresistible draw of learning more about Alex. Was it possible to envy a dead man?

As much as he hated this situation, he couldn't help but respect the man sitting before him. If he had a daughter like Cameron... Well he wouldn't want her hooking up with just any idiot that came along. Let alone a bastard such as himself.

"And now she's showing an interest in you. So I'll ask you again, why are you here? And don't give me that bullshit about not wanting to hire someone new. You don't fly all the way here just for that. I've seen the way you look at her."

"I don't know," House answered, his gaze not wavering from Jack's now. He scrubbed his hand over his scruffy face and repeated it. "I don't know." It was the most honest thing he'd said since he'd arrived.

"She's strong. Stronger than I've ever been," Jack said, his voice filled with pride. "But when she lost Alex...Well, I just don't want to see her hurt again. You understand?"

Again House nodded. He didn't want to see her hurt either, which is why they'd never work. Because that's what he did. He hurt people, even when he didn't mean to. He should have gotten up and walked away right then, but his curiosity and rebellious streak got the better of him and he had to ask. "If you're so keen on not seeing her hurt, then why do you let your wife treat her like dirt?" His voice was gruff, angry.

Jack looked shocked at the question and even a little ashamed. He cleared his throat and answered, studying his fingernails rather than look at House. "There's a lot of history there that...well, even Ally doesn't know about. Believe me, I've tried to...I want them to be close, but...I guess I've failed." He slumped a little in defeat and House almost felt sorry for him.

"I don't want to hurt her either," House spoke, breaking the tense silence that had descended. "But that's what I do. I'm not a nice man."

Jack looked him in the eye then, his look direct and piercing, making House want to squirm. "I get the feeling that you're a good man, deep down inside," he said, patting his heart.

House scoffed at that, rubbing his furrowed brow. "Then that would make you as hopelessly optimistic as your daughter."

Jack laughed and started propelling himself toward the garage. "Maybe so," he said. "Maybe so. Come on, I want to show you something. You like cars?" He gestured for House to follow him, and House hoped there'd be no more deep and meaningful conversations as he stood and made his way to the garage.

MD MD MD MD MD

Armed with more facts about 1963 Dodge Chargers than he'd ever anticipated knowing in his entire life, he found Cameron in the kitchen an hour later. He stood in the doorway, unnoticed, and watched her pull pint-sized garments out of a laundry basket and fold them awkwardly before placing them on the table in a pile.

She was singing off key to the baby, who was sitting in a walker on the floor beside her, sucking on his fist. House didn't recognize the song, but he found it amusing and rather sweet nonetheless. As the word "sweet" entered his thoughts, he scowled. She looked so natural and domestic and maternal, and everything he never thought he'd want and he definitely shouldn't be thinking words like "sweet." This is probably what she wanted someday, a rug rat of her own to sing to and love. And there was no place for him in that scenario.

Wondering why he felt so conflicted about it, he turned away and went in search of a distraction.


	15. Chapter 15

_Squeak, squeak._

Silence.

_Squeak, squeak, squeak._

Finally House could take it no longer, his arm falling heavily to the air mattress in frustration. "For God's sake, Cameron, can't you lie still?"

"I'm trying," she replied, exasperated. "I can't get comfortable." Every time she moved the bed springs gave out an audible protest, digging into her spine as if in retaliation for the abuse they were taking as she continued to shift positions. The top bunk, so close above her was making her feel suffocated. She shifted again and cringed at the resulting squeak.

House's gruff voice, laced with sarcasm made her cringe further. "Your family's gonna get the wrong idea with all the noise. Your dad doesn't own a shotgun, does he?"

Ignoring him, she closed her eyes and tried not to move, but it was like the mattress was stuffed with thumb tacks. And then she remembered that there was an oil can in the laundry room somewhere, and if she could just locate the source of the squeaking, she could silence it. If she slipped out and grabbed the can, she could take care of the problem and finally get some sleep. Or at least House could.

"OW. SHIT!" she cursed, rubbing her forehead where it had met the support bar of the top bunk when she sat up. Tiny colored lights floated in front of her eyes like a mini fireworks show.

"Well, now they're just gonna think I'm bad in bed," House quipped, and Cameron couldn't help but giggle despite the pain in her head.

She placed her feet on the floor, stretched her arms out in front of her to feel her way through the darkness and took one step, connecting with the edge of the air mattress and landing face first across House's body. "Shit!" she repeated, her voice muffled by the bedding.

"God Cameron, if you wanted to get in bed with me, you could've just asked. I bet no one ever accused you of being subtle, eh?"

"Shut up, House," she murmured, and then she could contain her laughter no longer. Her whole body shook, and she couldn't move from her awkward position.

House smiled in the dark too, pleased at hearing her laugh like this, so free and unguarded. And he liked the warmth of her pressing against him, even though she was sprawled across his abdomen side ways. Of all the new things he'd discovered about her here, he found her clumsiness to be the most endearing. It was the opposite of what he would expect of someone so lithe and beautiful.

Her stunning little ass was inches from his face, tempting his hands to give it a squeeze. "You planning to sleep like that, 'cause I gotta say, I'm enjoying the view."

She propped herself up with her hands and tried to wiggle off him, but the give of the air mattress made it difficult to move.

He maneuvered so that he was sitting up a bit, slid an arm under her thighs and bodily moved her across him, so that she was now fully occupying the other side of his bed.

She rolled over and sat up, well aware of the fact that she was trapped between the wall and his body. Closing her eyes in the dark, she tried not to think about where his hands had touched her. "House, what are you doing?"

"You might as well sleep there," House replied, patting the space between them. "There's plenty of room and no squeaky bed springs."

"I...don't think that's such a good idea," she protested, already feeling the heat from him and the compelling urge to wrap herself around him and study his topography, map out every ridge and valley of his body.

"Why? Afraid you can't keep your hands off me?" he said, only half joking. He'd never admit it, but he wasn't sure his own hands wouldn't be doing some wandering of their own.

"Maybe," she answered, but in all honestly the answer was a definite yes.

"I know I'm irresistible, but I'll try to make myself as undesirable as possible. What would do it for you? Should I scratch myself, pass gas, eat some raw garlic? Or maybe you should just imagine you're in bed with someone far less manly. Like Chase...I mean, he's practically a woman..."

"Shut UP House!" she said, her body shaking with laughter.

"I'm just saying...

Her laughter subsiding, she sat up and tried to scoot to the end of the bed.

"What are you doing now?" he asked, annoyed.

"I just want to get my pillows," she answered impatiently.

He rolled a bit and reached over to grab all three of her pillows off the bunk, tossing them behind him without looking and then turning to watch her fuss with them. She tucked one under her head, placed one between herself and the wall and the other between their bodies before pulling the sheet up over them.

"What's with all the pillows?"

"I...need something to cuddle with," she confessed, sheepishly.

"I'm shocked," he quipped. "Imagine you, a cuddler."

"I wasn't always." Later she would blame the intimacy of their situation for causing her to blurt out truths about her past she'd swore she'd never reveal. "I...got used to having someone in the bed with me when I was married." With that she clamped her mouth shut before anymore secrets could spill forth.

House remained silent for a moment, processing that bit of information. "You took his name," he said finally, making it sound like an accusation.

She blinked, wondering if she would ever learn to keep up with his thought processes. "That surprises you?"

"It never occurred to me," he answered, scratching his head. "Why didn't you change it back?"

Her jaw dropped and she turned to stare at his silhouette, stunned and angry. "Why didn't I just tear up our wedding photos and burn our marriage certificate too?"

"You were married to the guy for six months. You knew he was dying. Why take a name you'd be stuck with for the rest of your life?" he retorted.

"Because when a good person dies, someone should remember," she rasped, throat all clogged up with unshed tears. "I didn't marry him because he was dying. I married him because I loved him. I loved him enough not to let him die alone. And some small part of me hoped for a miracle, because I wanted to spend the rest of _my_ life with him, not just the rest of his life." She turned her back to him and clutched the pillow to her chest, finished with the conversation.

"You miss him?" House asked, as an unfamiliar flash of emotion revealed itself at hearing her confess to loving someone else. It bothered him that he had been calling her by another man's name since the day they met. He was just realizing that he felt a strange possessiveness toward her, as if she was not allowed to have a life apart from him.

She answered on a small sigh, knowing he wouldn't drop it until he had all the answers he wanted. "Yes, I still miss him sometimes."

House turned to stare at her back, silently watching as her breathing evened out and he was sure she slept. There was no one like her. No one who'd ever affected him the way she did.

Her proximity was even more of a distraction from sleep than the squeaky bed springs.


	16. Chapter 16

House would have bet a substantial amount of money that he would wake up to find Cameron cuddling him like an overgrown teddy bear. Instead, he woke to find her curled up on her side, facing away from him. His own arm was thrown over the pillow that separated them and his hand was clutching the hem of her t-shirt. He released it immediately and stifled the feeling of disappointment that she wasn't tangled up with him like the sheets around his legs.

Sitting up, he watched her sleep for a few moments, taking note of how very young she looked. She was even more beautiful in repose, all smooth skin and mussed hair, her body unclenched.

Rolling off the mattress, he levered himself up by grasping the edge of the bunk beds, pain radiating up his thigh as he moved. Pulling his Vicodin from his pants, he swallowed two and made his way to the bathroom, hoping he wouldn't run into anybody on the way.

He emerged from the bathroom moments later to the sound of raised voices coming from the other end of the hall, near the living room. Jack was sprawled on the floor beside an overturned walker, and Jill and Cameron were hovering over him as he tried to sit up.

"Here dad, let me help you," Cameron offered, her hand extended, pity and remorse on her face.

"HELP?" her mother shrieked. "He wouldn't have fallen in the first place if it weren't for your help. What are you still doing here anyway? We don't need you," she spat, moving in front of Cameron and all but pushing her aside.

Cameron took two steps back, her face a stricken mess of hurt, anger, and confusion. House couldn't take his eyes off her as she ran past him and out the back door, still wearing her pajamas.

He turned back to her family as the door slammed shut, watching as they got Jack to his feet and then finally settled on the couch. They all fussed over him, making him comfortable as if nothing had just happened. As if they hadn't just broken Ally's heart. He had never imagined that her family could be so screwed up and that it was probably the reason that she was... damaged. And when had he started thinking of her as Ally, he wondered. All he knew was that he could no longer think of her as Cameron. That name was a stark reminder that she had once belonged to someone else, and that was something he didn't like to think about.

He was never good at the comforting thing, but he found his feet taking him out the door and searching for her anyway, spying her pink clad legs as they rounded the corner of the garage.

When he caught up with her, she was sitting on a pile of hay bails stacked up against the wall, staring off into the field with watery eyes. He had no idea what to say, so he just sat down beside her and waited for her to speak first.

"You're pleased," she said bitterly, and it was the last thing he expected her to say. "You think you've got me all figured out now. Poor damaged Cameron, doesn't have her mommy's love."

"Do I look pleased?" he asked, sincerely. "Besides, I haven't figured you out yet. Haven't even scratched the surface." He sat down on a bail of hay, facing her. "For instance, why are you so nice to people who treat you like crap? You that desperate for approval? Or maybe you actually like being treated like crap. Or do you..."

"STOP!" she ordered. "Stop trying to figure me out. You're dissecting me--cutting me open and picking me apart piece by piece."

Looking away, he was suddenly taken with plucking bits of hay from the bail he was sitting on and briefly wondering what the hay was doing here anyway.

"Problem is, you don't always put the pieces back where they belong. And it hurts."

The look on her face gave him pause. As much of a bastard as he was, it never occurred to him that his obsessive need to understand her was so hurtful. Had he known, he was certain that it wouldn't have stopped him before. But after seeing the pain inflicted on her by her own mother, he had no desire to add to it now. But that didn't mean he was going to apologize.

"You know I can't stop," he finally muttered, glancing at her and then off into the distance.

She laughed humorlessly at that, her anger floating away from her like dandelion fluff. She never could stay mad at him. "I know."

"Ally?"

They both turned to see Matt round the corner. "Hey...I...uh..." He looked from one to the other and then plowed ahead. "Dr. Phillips called. Wanted to know if you could meet him for lunch instead of dinner. He's on call tonight."

She lowered her head and massaged her temples as if she could wipe away the last half an hour. "I forgot we had plans," she answered. "I'll call him back."

Matt nodded and strode away, leaving them alone again.

"Hot date?" House asked, cringing a little after the conversation they'd just had. He seemed to have no control over his tongue when his curiosity kicked in. Or any other time for that matter.

"No it's...I mean..." She took a deep breath, telling herself she had nothing to feel guilty about. She wasn't trying to make him jealous, she was just trying to have a life. "I made plans with him before you showed up here. He's a nice man."

"Nice is boring," he scoffed, twirling his cane as he spoke.

Typical, she thought. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "House, what's your problem? You should be happy I'm trying to move on, seeing as how you don't want me for yourself. Right?!"

Instead of waiting for his answer she left him sitting there and headed into the house to make her phone call. She had no intention of canceling her date and if House didn't like it, that was his problem.


	17. Chapter 17

Cameron didn't see House again until Kyle had arrived to pick her up for their date. Emerging from behind the garage, he limped in their direction with an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes, and she felt obligated to make an awkward introduction.

"Dr. House, I've heard so much about you. Nice to meet you," Kyle greeted, his hand outstretched.

Reluctantly, House switched his cane to his left hand and allowed the handshake. "Dr. Phipps," he nodded.

"It's Phillips, but you can call me Kyle."

House rolled his eyes at that. "So, where you taking her? Strip club?" he asked with a smirk.

"House!" Cameron hissed, half tempted to whack him with her purse.

"You're every bit as charming as I've heard," Kyle muttered sarcastically, turning away to open the door for Cameron.

House spied the outline of something small and square inside Kyle's back pocket and scowled, his hand gripping his cane tight in an attempt to keep from beating Phipps with it. "You've got condoms in your pocket. Either you think you're getting a little afternoon delight with Allison here or you're seeing someone else."

"What?" Cameron turned to Kyle with questioning eyes, a blush rising over her cheeks.

"Well, a guy can never be too prepared," Kyle joked, and pulled out the offending item with a smug smile, holding up the red and white square package. "You never know when you're gonna need some handi-wipes."

With a sigh, Cameron glanced at House and then got into the car, eager to put some distance between the two men. "I'll see ya later, House."

He didn't answer, but the hangdog look on his face made her wonder if he'd still be there when she got back. That thought almost made her cancel her plans. A mere two days he'd spent in her childhood home and she suddenly couldn't imagine what it would be like if he was gone. Strange how he made her feel more at home in the place where she grew up than her own family did.

As they pulled away from the driveway, she watched House limp heavily toward the back door. Something about his demeanor, the way he hung his head and gripped his cane, made her heart clench with sadness.

"Dr. House is a close friend of your family?" Kyle asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"No, they just met," she answered, not following his line of thought.

"So then, why is he here?"

She turned her gaze toward him, wishing she had an answer to that question. "I don't know."

On the remainder of the drive to the restaurant, he asked her questions about where she went to school, why she chose immunology, and what made her decide to be a doctor. The usual small talk. And yet she couldn't seem to focus. He was an intelligent, good-looking guy, and she tried, she really tried, but her heart was back home wondering if House was packing to leave and when she'd ever see him again.

Once they were seated, they ran out of things to say. Kyle fiddled with his silverware, while she toyed with the hem of her napkin. She wanted to put him at ease, but she was far from comfortable herself. She wondered what he would say if she pulled out a little Freudian analysis, whether he'd react the way House had.

"Earth to Allison."

Looking up, she caught his eyes then, their kindness replaced by impatience.

"I asked you if you wanted to share an appetizer."

Embarrassed, she sighed and tried to put thoughts of House aside. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking..."

"About Dr. House," he stated, as if it was an unequivocal fact. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

She raised shocked eyes at him and asked, "What makes you say that?"

"I saw the way you looked at him when we left and the way he looked at you. The way you talked to him on the phone at the hospital... He showed up here for a reason and that reason is you." He paused and then continued. "Look," he said with determination in his voice. "I like you, but I really don't want to waste my time with a woman who is clearly hung up on someone else." Placing his unused napkin on the table, he stood. "Maybe we should just go."

"What if I don't want to go?" she retorted, even though it was exactly what she wanted right now; to be out of his presence and back with House. But this was the second consecutive date to go wrong before she had even ordered. Why couldn't she just have one date that was normal?

"I'm suddenly not in the mood to eat anymore. Come on, I'll take you home," he offered, barely concealed anger on his face.

"You wanna go, then go," she muttered, uncaring that she was being childish. She just knew that she didn't want to spend another second in his company. Glaring at him, she stayed in her seat, defiantly crossing her arms.

"Fine! You enjoy your meal then." With that, he shrugged and walked away, exiting the restaurant with a determined stride.

Silently she fumed, too stubborn and angry to go after him for a ride home. She'd rather walk the eleven miles.

After five minutes, she figured he'd really gone, so she apologized profusely to the waiter, her face burning with humiliation, left some bills on the table and made her way outside. She pulled out her cell phone and called Matt, praying he and Shelly hadn't left to go visit Shelly's family yet. Sighing with frustration, she hung up when she got his voice mail, and dialed home on the off chance they were still there. When the answering machine picked up, she figured she just might have to walk the eleven miles home after all.

"Matt? Shelly? It's Ally. Pick up please. I'm at Romano's and I need a ride home. Kyle just left me here." She cringed as those words left her mouth, recorded for the whole family to hear. And then she heard the click of someone picking up the phone.

"Soooo, Dr. Perfect left you stranded, eh?"

"Dammit," she cursed softly. Figured House would be there to witness her humiliation. "House...is my brother still there?"

"Nope. They left ten minutes ago." A pause. "Having a good time?"

"I need a ride, House. Do you think you could come get me? And maybe...erase this message." She hated the pleading sound of her voice, but she really didn't want everyone to hear how she got ditched at the restaurant. Especially her parents, who thought so highly of Dr. Phillips.

"Where are you?"

She gave him directions and hung up, stuffing her phone into her purse and taking a seat on a wooden bench outside the restaurant, her mind so preoccupied that she was oblivious to the darkened sky above her. Barely a minute had passed when the skies opened up and poured forth such a torrent of rain that she was instantly soaked, her hair plastered to her face and her skirt clinging to her legs. She considered seeking shelter inside the restaurant again, but it seemed pointless now that she was already drenched, and she had already embarrassed herself enough in front of the staff and the other patrons. Remaining seated, she fervently hoped House wouldn't get lost.

He didn't. Ten minutes later he was pulling up and she was running through the downpour and flinging herself into his car.

"Good thing this is a rental car," he said with a smirk, taking in her sopping wet and bedraggled form. "If I had my 'vette, I'd make you walk."

"If I laid down in the street right now, would you just run me over? It'd be faster and a lot less painful," she snapped, in no mood for his teasing.

"What happened?"

"House, I really don't want to talk about it." She swiped strands of stringy wet hair out of her eyes, sending stray droplets flying across the car. "Just take me home."

They drove home in silence, his eyes grazing over her every now and then. The rain tapered off and the sun came out, glaring off the wet pavement blindingly. She stared out the side window, feeling his eyes on her and just waiting for him to make a wet t-shirt crack. As angry as she was, she was glad he was the one to come for her.

What was it about House, she wondered, that she couldn't let go and move on with her life. He was like a planet unto himself, with his own gravitational pull, and she was revolving around him. Irresistibly drawn to him but unable to get close.

"You know you wanna tell me what happened," House said, breaking the silence.

"Here we go again," she retorted, rolling her eyes. But she was strangely comforted by the familiarity of his prying questions and the relief she felt that he was still there. It was inevitable that she tell him what he wanted to know. She always did.

"He...said he didn't want to waste time with a woman who was hung up on someone else. So he just left me there," she offered, giving him the abridged version.

"Wow. And you thought I was a bad date," he joked.

He pulled into the driveway and she strode into the house, still dripping. When she passed the spot where her mother had announced to everyone that morning that she wasn't needed, she felt a renewed pang of rejection. Eager to peel off her wet clothes, she headed to her bedroom. But before she had a chance to remove one garment, he had followed her into the room, watching her with those impossibly blue eyes that seemed to see everything.

"What do you think it is?" she asked, sad and resigned. "I mean, you said it yourself. I'm damaged. So I'd really like to know what's wrong with me."

He looked to the floor and rubbed his forehead, uncomfortable with this line of conversation.

"You're the genius of diagnostics," she continued. "You've been trying to diagnose me all along. I just want to know what's wrong with me. Why doesn't anyone want me? Have you figured it out yet?"

There was an edge of desperation in her voice that threatened to unravel him right where he stood. He found himself regretting every hurtful thing he'd ever said to her.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

She turned angry eyes on him then. "You've never tiptoed around my feelings before, so why stop now? I'm giving you permission to cut me open and diagnose me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," he answered, exasperated. "You're beautiful, smart... You can have any guy you want."

"That's bullshit and you know it. I can't have the guy I want," she said, with a wave in his direction. "I can't even have the guy I might possibly settle for."

"You don't know what you want."

She laughed, mirthlessly. "What are you so afraid of, House? I love you and it doesn't matter about your leg or your age. It's not some fleeting crush. It's love. You can diagnose it, but you can't cure it. It just is. You think that if you push me away enough times I'll give up, but my heart is convinced you're only doing it because you're afraid of how you feel. Of how I make you feel."

He hated this. Hated that she had to bring up the L word and all this talk about feelings. Hated that she knew him better than he thought. And for the first time he realized that they were more alike than he thought; that in dissecting her, he had learned truths about himself that he'd never face. She didn't want to fix him, she wanted to fix herself. And she was just as screwed up as he was. Maybe even more so because she cared too much what people thought of her. People looked at her and made instantaneous judgments. Beautiful, kind, caring; someone who could have the world on a silver platter if she wanted. But she struggled to find her place in the world. He had never wanted to kiss her more than he did at that moment.

And so he did.

He grabbed her and crushed her lithe body to his, his lips finding hers and a moan escaping as he tasted her for the first time. His cane clattered against the iron bed frame before hitting the floor, freeing his right hand to draw her closer. When her tongue touched his, his brain shut off completely.

He began peeling off her wet clothes and leaving hot kisses on the skin beneath, vaguely aware that her fingers were busy with his clothing as well.

Cameron was breathless, her heart skittering out of control. It was all happening so fast. Skin on skin like she'd been dreaming about. She felt something primitive sweep over her--a possessiveness like she'd never felt before as she pressed her mouth to his neck and began tasting him. He was hers, and she was determined to love him so thoroughly that he would forget every woman that came before her. Her hands roamed over every inch of him, touching, stroking, caressing, memorizing, and relishing every quick intake of breath that her touch brought from his lips.

He lowered her to the mattress and then suddenly he was inside her and she was wrapped around him and clinging to him and gasping in sheer ecstasy. He moved in her, with her, as if he was born with the knowledge of her body. Like it was somehow ingrained on his DNA. iGregory House, predisposed to carnal knowledge of Allison Cameron./i He knew exactly where and how to touch her and all she could do was feel, so lost in sensation was she.

They reached their peak within seconds of one another, and breathed in sync as the world righted itself once again. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so happy.

After a few moments, he disentangled himself from her and began to get dressed, unable to even look at her as panic set in. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was never supposed to let her this close.

Her happiness died a premature death as the distance between them grew. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"Going home," he stated simply.

"Now?"

"Yup. Got a flight to catch." His fingers moved swiftly to pull on his shoes, like he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

"So this meant nothing to you?" she gasped, furious and hurt.

He glanced at her briefly, looking almost...ashamed. "It was a mistake," he said, and grabbed his cane and bag and left the room.

Before she could pull her clothes on and follow him, he was gone, the tires of his rental car spitting gravel across the driveway as he sped away.


	18. Chapter 18

By Monday, House was back in his office as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't spent the entire weekend with Cameron and her family in Ohio. As if he hadn't slept with her and then fled the premises like an escaped convict. And if no one looked too closely they'd never figure it out.

But then there was Wilson.

"Hey, where were you all weekend? I called you like a million times," he declared as he sauntered in the room and planted himself in the chair across from House.

"I wasn't aware I had to check in with you, MOM," House responded with a scowl. "I promise I didn't break curfew."

"What's wrong with you? Hookers refuse your credit card?" Wilson narrowed his eyes, studying House closely, acutely aware that House was hiding something. "Where _did_ you go?"

"NOWHERE! God you're annoying!" he retorted.

"You only tell me I'm annoying when you're hiding something. And you know I'm going to figure it out, so you might as well just spill," Wilson observed, with his trademark patience.

"Fine! I slept with Cameron." House looked directly at Wilson, a challenge in his eyes.

"Seriously? Wait, haven't we had this conversation before?"

House remained silent, running his hand across his brow in consternation and willing Wilson to either go away or dispense some of his relationship wisdom. Preferably something useful for once, because this time he had screwed up and he was afraid it was irrevocable. He wasn't even sure, himself, why he had run, except that Allison Cameron was the scariest woman he'd ever met. Without his permission or consent, she'd injected herself into his bloodstream. A disease without a cure.

"You're not joking are you?" Wilson asked, his eyebrows raised in question. He leaned forward to study House's face more closely.

"No," House confessed, unable to meet his friend's eyes.

"Well obviously it didn't go well or you wouldn't be..." he trailed off and waved his hand at House's sour expression. "So what happened?"

"I left."

"What do you mean, you left?"

"I wasn't aware that phrase had more than one meaning," House snapped, exasperated.

"So you're saying you slept with her and then just left? Did you say anything to her?"

"I told her it was a mistake."

Wilson's eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. He raked his hands through his hair, a gesture of frustration that made it appear as if he was the one who'd just made one colossal mistake. "Well...that's one way to make sure she doesn't come back. Was it? A mistake, I mean?

"I don't know," House answered, running his hands over his stubbled chin.

"Well that's just great, House," Wilson declared, slapping his hands on his thighs. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I panicked," he confessed and lowered his head to the desk in frustration.

Wilson stood and began pacing the small space in front of House's desk, one hand poised on his hip, the other running over the back of his neck--his standard march of agitation, which House was all too familiar with. After a few laps he stopped and spoke.

"She's pretty forgiving. I mean...look how much crap she takes from you on a regular basis and somehow still has feelings for you. Just call her up and tell her you freaked out. Tell her you want her back. You do want her back, right?"

Silence.

"God, you are such a coward. For some reason this beautiful, intelligent woman cares about you. And you care about her. Are you just going to throw that away?" He threw his hands in the air in defeat and plopped down in the chair across from House.

House rubbed his hand across his scruffy face and scowled. This was why he avoided personal relationships so actively. He wasn't good at it. Yeah, he cared about Cameron and yeah, he wanted her back. But acting on it was another thing altogether. Facing her again, after what he'd done...

"I don't know what to do," he muttered, glancing up at Wilson.

"It's simple, House. Pick up the phone and call her. Tell her you're sorry."

"What if I can't do that?" House asked, his eyes wide and serious.

"I don't think you have a choice. Not if you want her to come back."

MD MD MD MD MD

Two weeks.

That's how long it had been since House had made love to her and then hightailed it back to New Jersey like a frightened rabbit. Since then there had been nothing but a vast silence between Ohio and New Jersey. And despite how much it hurt, she still missed him.

In the meantime, she was lost. Not needed here, not wanted there. At least, not in the way she wanted to be wanted. Stuck in some sort of limbo between her two lives. She was still helping her dad with his physical therapy, but it wasn't as if her mom couldn't handle that. Helping him was just a ruse to make herself feel needed and to postpone some sort of decision about what to do with herself. At some point, she'd have to go back to Princeton, if for no other reason than to tie up the loose ends of her life there.

Her first instinct was to run, far and fast, and make a new start somewhere where no one knew how damaged she was. But a little voice inside told her that was the coward's way out. She hadn't found it so hard to be brave since she watched her husband die, his life evaporating before her eyes like morning mist as she sat helplessly by his side.

Matt came in and flopped down on the couch beside her, a giant bag of barbecued potato chips in his grip. He snatched the remote control out of her hand and began flipping through the channels.

"Hey, I was watching that," Cameron protested.

"Watching what?" Matt asked, and then looked at her knowingly. "You don't even know what you were watching, because you were pining away for Dr. House."

"I wasn't pining," she muttered.

"What exactly happened between you two anyway?" He glanced at her, noting the sudden flush of her cheeks. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Want me to drive to Jersey and kick his ass?"

She laughed then, relaxing a bit. "I don't think so, but if I change my mind I'll let you know."

"Good, 'cause I have to admit I kind of liked the old geezer," Matt retorted. "Be a shame to have to beat him up."

"He's not a geezer," she said, rising from the couch.

He reached out and grasped her arm and pulled her back down. "I'm sorry he hurt you. I wish... I just want you to be happy."

"I know, Matt. Thanks," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaving to go in search of her dad.

Stepping into the kitchen, she found her mom furiously cleaning out the already immaculate cabinets, a sure sign that she was frustrated. Her father sat at the table, his walker perched in front of him and a guilty expression on his face.

"You ready for your exercises?" she asked, jumping when her mother slammed a cabinet door.

"I will help your father with his exercises," her mother retorted, punctuating each word with a thump of her sponge on the countertop. She whirled around and pierced Cameron with her gaze. "What are you still doing here anyway? Don't you have a job to get back to? Or do you expect us to support you for the rest of your life?"

Taken aback, Cameron blinked and tried to think of a response. "I..." was all she got out before retreating. She went through the back door, letting it slam behind her, and headed for her favorite spot out behind the garage where she buried her head in her arms and cried, for her mom and for House and for all the times she loved someone who couldn't love her back.

She wasn't sure how long she cried, but when her head started to hurt and her nose became all stuffy, she sat up and tried to pull herself together. A moment or two later her mom came around the corner and sat down beside her, plucking nervously at bits of hay.

It felt like an eternity of unbreachable silence stretched between them. Everything was quiet and still except for Cameron's occasional sniffles. And then finally, her mother spoke.

"I'm sorry," she said on a heavy sigh.

In all her years, her mom had never apologized to her. Hearing it now... It broke the dam around Cameron's heart and the tears began to flow even more freely and insistently. She swiped at them with the back of her hand and asked, "What did I do?" and hoped her mom knew that she wasn't talking about what happened in the kitchen moments ago.

"It's not your fault. It's mine," her mom answered, looking off into the distance. She paused, considering something and then seemed to come to a decision and continued. "No one but your dad knows this. I've never even told Matt." She exhaled a shaky breath and began her story. "Shortly before I met your dad, I gave birth to a baby girl. I named her Sarah. She only lived three days."

"I'm sorry," Cameron murmured, grasping her mom's hand, shocked when her mom held on with a tight, almost desperate, grip.

"I blamed myself, because her father...Matt's father, used to beat me and I thought if I had stopped him, maybe she would have survived." She blinked rapidly, bit her lower lip and looked away again. "When she was born, he took off. The bastard just left us high and dry. We lost the house...everything, and so I had to take a job waitressing at the truck stop. The owner let us stay in the back room, but obviously we couldn't stay there forever. I met your dad at the cemetery where Sarah was buried. He had just buried your mother. Well, you know what happened next. He had a need, I had a need. It seemed logical to help each other."

Cameron squeezed her hand and gave her a weak smile, encouraging her to go on.

"But the first time he placed you in my arms... I'm sorry, it's not your fault, but you weren't her. You weren't my Sarah and there was no replacing her. I tried, I really tried to be a good mother to you, but every time I saw you, I thought of my own lost little girl and it tore me up inside."

"I wish you'd told me," Cameron responded, wrapping an arm around her mom's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I don't... I don't want to replace your Sarah," she said, her shoulders slumping in defeat, because she didn't know what to do about this situation. All she wanted was for her mom to love her, but it seemed that was impossible.

"Today would've been her thirty-first birthday," her mom confessed. "After all these years... it hasn't gotten any easier."

"Mom... I'm so sorry." Not sure what else to say, Cameron wrapped her arms around the only mother she'd ever known and was surprised when her mom held her tight in return.

"I'm sorry I took it out on you. You... didn't deserve it," Jill murmured against Cameron's hair and Cameron nodded, a lump in her throat as they clung to one another.

Maybe there was hope for her after all.


	19. Chapter 19

House woke up with a groan of frustration that was only partially due to the pain in his leg. Shaking off the fog of sleep, he realized that today was Friday, the end of another long week without Cam...Allison. The longer she was gone, the worse he felt. He missed her, like he missed the chunk of thigh taken from him without his permission.

Sleep had eluded him since he'd returned from Ohio. He kept reaching for her in the middle of the night as if he'd lost a wife of many years instead of sharing a bed with her only once. They hadn't even cuddled. How could he miss that kind of intimacy when he'd never experienced it with her? He blamed himself for having sex with her. If he hadn't felt her body spread beneath him, tasted skin as smooth and sweet as taffy, he wouldn't be in this mess. Now he was like an Allison junkie, desperately in need of another fix.

_This is your brain. This is your brain on Allison Cameron, he thought._

Allison. That was the other problem. He could no longer think of her as Cameron now that he knew that name belonged to another man. It was like a big neon sign screaming out that she'd belonged to someone else first. Someone she'd loved very much, at least according to her father, who seemed to be plagued with the same compulsion for honesty that she was, so he supposed it had to be true. It wasn't logical to feel this way about a simple name. A name that belonged to a dead man. That's what bothered him the most. He valued logic above all else, especially fickle emotions. But now he was feeling all these things that defied logic, and hating a name that he'd been calling her since the day they met.

Dragging his tired body out of bed, he got ready for work, dreading another day of wishing she was there to suggest a diagnosis of Lupus. He wanted to see her running off to get a patient history while he watched her hips sway beneath her lab coat, or hunching over the microscope in the lab, her glasses perched on her perfect little nose.

The worst part of the day were the inevitable questions from Wilson, Chase or Foreman asking if he'd heard from "Cameron."

That name again. It was like verbal Ipecac, making his stomach clench in unpleasant ways.

Wilson was especially annoying, frowning at him with disapproval and nagging him to call her and apologize. It had gotten so bad that House had taken to paying for his own lunch, just to spare himself another lecture. Still, he was considering Wilson's advice, because either way he was pretty sure he was going insane.

He sat at his desk, his cell phone in hand and his fingers poised over the button that would connect him to her when suddenly there she was, calling him.

MD MD MD MD MD

Another week had passed and Cameron was still in limbo. After her talk with her mom, they had gone to the cemetery together and laid flowers at both Sarah's and her mother's graves. Now things between them were sort of clumsy and awkward, but not altogether unpleasant. They were trying and that was all that mattered.

But she still had to decide what to do with herself. Go back to Princeton, pack up and find a job elsewhere, or try to go back to her old job? Maybe she should just go back, do her job and pretend like she was strong enough to face House everyday. _Fake it 'til you make it or something like that._ Although he may have already decided he didn't want her back. Not personally or professionally. Maybe he'd already filled her position.

She flipped open her cell phone and dialed his number. One way or the other she had to know.

"Hey," he answered. His voice was low and gravelly and touched her like a lover's caress, raising goosebumps on her skin and reminding her of things best left forgotten.

"House, it's Cameron," she said, feeling stupid as soon as the words came out of her mouth.

"Yeah, I got that from the caller ID."

"Right." She took a deep breath, pretending like it gave her confidence. "Is...I was just wondering if you'd filled my position yet? I mean...if the job is still open..."

"Job's still yours if you want it. Good lobby art is hard to come by these days." The lame joke tripped over his tongue and fell flat on its face. "When?" he asked.

"When?" she echoed, confused.

"When will you be back?" he drew out, like he was talking to a small child.

"Monday," she answered, fighting back tears and wondering if she was strong enough for this.

"Good. Don't be late," he responded, and promptly hung up.

"I won't," she said to the dial tone.

MD MD MD MD MD

She stepped out onto the concourse and followed the signs for baggage claim, dragging her feet like a death row inmate on his way to the chair and ignoring the scowls of the people rushing around her in their hurry to get wherever they were going. She was back and her feelings were as mixed up as one of Matt's famous homemade fruit smoothies.

_Happy, scared, relieved, sad, nervous, eager? All of the above. Blend together. Serve chilled._

The remainder of the weekend would be spent practicing her professional face. The one that said, "I'm totally not affected by the fact that I'm working for the man I am completely in love with. The one who crushed my heart into dust. After we slept together."

_That was gonna take some practice._

She stepped onto the escalator that led down to baggage claim and there he was standing at the bottom, leaning on his cane like he hadn't a care in the world and watching her, always watching her with those x-ray eyes.

She was frozen, unwilling to move, but the damn escalator kept going, bringing her closer to him. She had no choice but to step off when she reached the bottom.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, pleased when her voice didn't betray the rapid staccato of her tell-tale heart.

"What? No hug?" he joked, and she just stood there and stared at him. "Thought you might need a ride," he answered, his gaze traveling over her face and settling on her collar bone.

"I was planning on taking a cab," she shrugged, moving past him toward the baggage carousel.

As she stood waiting for the great beast to start regurgitating luggage, he came to stand beside her. Her body reacted before she even looked at him, her scalp tingling and warmth crackling through her in every direction like sheet lightning.

"What are you really doing here?" She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him her best, _don't bullshit me_ face.

He sighed and watched the rotating metal slabs in front of them, briefly considering jumping on and allowing them to take him away. But then again, they'd just bring him right back to her. One way or another, it always came back to her and he'd already decided he was going to stop running from it. Her. Whatever.

"You're not gonna make this easy, are you?" he asked, still staring straight ahead.

She scoffed at that. "You've never made it easy for me. Besides, you don't like things that are easy. They bore you."

"Good point." He paused, fiddled with his cane, looked at her, looked away again, then brought his gaze to rest on her slender feet encased in white sandals, her toenails painted bright pink. "I thought we could try that thing... with the feelings and the kissing and the sleeping together. Especially those last two. What's that called again?"

"A relationship?" she asked, her jaw hanging open. "You want a relationship with me?"

He nodded, looking into her face again. "You change your mind?" he asked, his eyes telling her that her answer might break him completely.

"No," she said softly, laying her hand against his stubbled cheek. "I just want to know what made you change your mind."

He nodded, his vivid blues dancing away from her intense stare. "The long distance thing really doesn't work for me."

Rubbing her brow, her mind made the House-to-English translation. "Are you saying you missed me?"

"Yeah," he murmured, and lifted a hand and gently pushed her hair off her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear. "Can we go home now?"

Home.

She felt like she was already there, standing before him, his hand sweeping across her neck in a gentle caress. She moved into him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest and listening to the rapid beat of his heart telling her more than he had said with words.

They stayed that way until suitcases started rolling past. She spotted hers wending its way toward them and House hefted it down for her.

He led her to his car and drove straight to his place, getting out and limping around to her side. When she just sat there with her brow furrowed in confusion, he reached for her, speaking to her like she was suffering from brain damage.

"This is the part where you get out," he said.

"I... thought you were taking me back to my place," she answered on a sigh.

"Why? You haven't been there in three months. What's another night or two?" He yanked her suitcase out of the trunk and started toward his apartment. "You've got clothes and all those woman-y products you use. What more could you need? Besides, your place is a mess."

"My place is not a mess," she countered, following him through the door. Then she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as he continued to the bedroom. "At least it wasn't when I left. What'd you do?"

"I may have forgotten to throw out some take out containers and stuff when I was there," he confessed, kicking his shoes off.

"House, you were only supposed to bring in my mail." Sighing, she rubbed her forehead in frustration, sitting on the edge of his bed with her carry on bag still hanging from her shoulder.

"Did you really think that's all I'd do when you gave me your key?" he threw back.

"Just...please tell me you didn't have... hookers there."

"No hookers," he reassured. "I wouldn't do that." Drawing her into his arms again, he rested his chin on the top of her head, strands of her hair sticking to his whiskers. "You don't need that place anyway. Lots of room here."

"You want me to move in with you?" She was stunned, her wide blue eyes staring into his, searching for answers, for truth.

"I told you, the long distance thing doesn't work for me."

"Long distance? My apartment is only a few miles away."

"And mine's right here." He sat down on the bed, stretching his arms out. "I'm not big on separation," he muttered. "So do you still want this or not?"

"I do," she answered. "It's just... what if you get sick of me in a month or two? Or what if you don't like my stuff encroaching on your turf?"

"Turf?" he mocked, with a roll of his eyes. "It's not gang warfare. You wanted me, you're stuck with me. I'm still gonna be a bastard, but I'm your bastard. So what's it gonna be?" While he spoke, he pulled her down beside him and began running his fingers up under the back of her shirt, sending seismic waves of pleasure through her.

She looked into his eyes, because that's where the truth lived, no matter what his lips were saying. And his eyes were telling her that he was done pushing her away.

"Okay," she nodded.

"Good. Let's go to bed then," he suggested, tugging her down beside him and dropping kisses on her face like raindrops before she had a chance to respond.

She couldn't answer anyway, because she was already lost in him. If she had been capable of rational thought, she'd be thinking of how glad she was to have found the courage to come back.

She'd be thinking that she was finally happy to be home.

The End


End file.
